


Marked

by HollyDB



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cure for the Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Demon Dean Winchester, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s07e22 Chosen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyDB/pseuds/HollyDB
Summary: There are a lot of Slayers nowadays and a dramatic shortage of people to train them. Sam Winchester might be interested, but he’s a little distracted with the fact that his brother’s missing. Enter Faith Lehane. Problem, meet solution.
Relationships: Charlie Bradbury/Willow Rosenberg, Faith Lehane/Dean Winchester, Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 62
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimmie_Winchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmie_Winchester/gifts).



> So I was languishing over what to get Kimmie Winchester for Christmas and, being that she has developed a new OTP over this year, I decided to be a crazy person and completely jump out of my typical Spuffy-centric fanfic and take a stab at a solo Dean/Faith story. This was particularly trying since Kimmie is typically the person I go to when I need quick answers to SPN-continuity/lore questions, so I cannot overstate enough my immense gratitude to Elizabeth, Rachel, and Maureen for letting me bounce ideas as I was drafting my outline, and Elizabeth and Rachel for reviewing my outline and betaing the chapters I’ve completed to date.
> 
> I had planned on having more of this story done by Christmas, but since I’ve been juggling three other WIPs, plus Kimmie’s and my ongoing collab, I’m only about 20k in to what is outlined to be quite long. But for Kimmie, at least, this will mean this particular gift is the sort that keeps on giving throughout the year.
> 
> Kimmie, I love you dearly. Writing Faith and Dean’s romance alongside you in _The Road to Hell_ was pretty much the highlight of my year. I hope you enjoy the places I go in this story.

If the guy wasn’t toasted off his ass, there was a chance he might have a decent singing voice. But he _was_ toasted off his ass, and the sounds coming from his mouth were just this side of awful. Still, Faith couldn’t suppress a snicker at her target’s tenacity. No one in the room was impressed with him, and they weren’t shy about letting him know. Every time this Dean Winchester dick got on stage to belt out one of the songs he seemed to have on rotation, he was met with boos and hisses and more than one drunken jackass screaming at him to shut the hell up. A bottle or two might have been thrown as well.  
  
But Dean Winchester, it seemed, had no fucks to give. And hell, Faith could respect that. No matter the animosity he received or the grumbles that greeted him, he sang his fool little heart out and fuck anyone who didn’t want to hear him.  
  
She still didn’t know his deal, but she was having fun trying to figure it out, which was more than she’d thought she’d be able to say when Giles had asked her to take this assignment. Granted, she was still a bit fuzzy on the _why_ but couldn’t deny that it felt hella good being away from Slayer Central for a while, and bars were more her scene anyway.  
  
A picture had formed over the course of the last hour—not a clear one, but she felt she was on the right track. From what she’d observed since parking her ass on a stool, Dean was a professional barfly. He seemed to know his way around the space rather well, was on friendly enough terms with the waitress to be knocking boots, and had a groupie in the form of a British dude who wore a suit too nice for this dump. What didn’t make sense was why this guy’s brother had had a hard time tracking him down because Dean was not going out of his way to keep a low profile. Faith had already witnessed a few near-miss brawls and one outright fistfight that she’d had to physically restrain herself from breaking up. If he wasn’t throwing back booze like he was mad at his liver, Dean was making a spectacle of himself in whatever way he could.  
  
The waitress was definitely on the hook for the guy, which was a shame because Faith also hadn’t missed the way Dean had eyed her up and down the moment she’d sauntered into the bar. Or the rather blatant looks he kept throwing at her—the kind she was used to receiving in places like this. The poor little blonde number was a broken heart in the making, but at least the woman looked sensible enough to know this.  
  
Dean finished crooning “Imaginary Lover,” took a moment to wave off the assorted sneers and jeers from his crowd of non-admirers, then promptly launched into “I’m Too Sexy” for perhaps the third time since Faith had plonked her ass down. Also for the third time, she busted up laughing because, well, apparently she was the only person in vicinity who had a goddamned sense of humor.  
  
The drunken idiot on the stage met her eyes and favored her with a truly spectacular smile that, she admitted, would likely have the panties melting off anyone else. Instead, she just snickered and threw back the shot the bartender had placed in front of her. The burn hit the back of her throat and filled her with that slow, steady but deceptive warmth. She needed to pace herself, she knew—aside from the waitress, she figured she was pretty much the only real live woman most of the clowns in this place ever got within throwing distance of. A fact that was underscored by the steady stream of drinks that she hadn’t ordered but kept finding themselves placed in front of her anyway.  
  
Faith wasn’t worried about what might happen to her if she had one too many—she was, however, worried that she might sock some mouthy fucker who thought that a drink was a contract for sex, and then the game would be up. Drunk or not, her target would probably take notice of a full-grown man being tossed around like a ragdoll.  
  
“How you doin’, darlin’?” came from her right, along with a hot blast of BO and beer breath.  
  
Faith pressed her eyes closed, turned to the fucker and plastered on a smile so fake it hurt. “Not lookin’ for company at the moment,” she said in her best don’t-fuck-with-me voice. “Enjoyin’ the show.”  
  
Beer Breath was a walking caricature of what had come to mind the moment Giles had uttered the words _North Dakota._ He had a mullet—honest to fuck mullet—a shaggy piss-colored beard, yellow-stained teeth and a round gut.  
  
“So I’m good enough to accept free booze from but not talk to?”  
  
Faith arched an eyebrow. “No one told you to buy me a drink, sugar, but I ain’t about to turn it down.” She glanced back to the stage, and saw her assignment was watching the exchange with interest. Could be a good or bad thing—he might be the chivalrous type and make her job all the easier. “Like I said,” she muttered. “Enjoyin’ the show.”  
  
Beer Breath swore loudly. “Pretty boy’s been screwin’ Anne Marie since he got here and giving her the runaround,” he said. “You don’t need no man like that. Come on now.”  
  
The singing abruptly stopped—a smattering of applause broke out at this—and the next thing Faith knew, Dean Winchester was practically on top of them. If Beer Breath smelled like a brewery, Dean smelled like he’d taken a bath in Jack Daniels. His eyes were glazed but strangely focused at the same time, and he practically vibrated with a dangerous sort of energy that spoke to Faith on a primal level. It was familiar in ways she didn’t like to think about anymore but could never truly put behind her.  
  
“This guy botherin’ you?” Dean asked. It didn’t look like he much cared what the answer was—the intent was there all the same. He wanted to fight.  
  
Faith brought up her hands. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”  
  
“You sure? Looks like he wants more to handle you.”  
  
“Excuse me!” Beer Breath chirped in, all puffy and indignant. “I’m standing right here!”  
  
She wasn’t sure what made her do it, especially since she’d already told herself she wasn’t going to show off for this guy. But chivalry was outdated as fuck, and if she wanted to get close to him, maybe she needed to prove she wasn’t like the Anne Maries of the world. Because she could see him getting bored with that wicked quick, and until she figured out just what had crawled up this guy’s ass to make him pull the disappearing act on his brother, she needed him as fascinated with her as any guy had ever been.  
  
So Faith decided to be Faith. Without taking her eyes off Dean, she grabbed Beer Breath by the scruff of the neck and slammed his head against the bar so hard the thing rattled. He gave a pitiful moan and collapsed into a puddle at her feet.  
  
“Now he’s lying right there,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Told you I could handle it.”  
  
She hadn’t finished speaking before she determined that had been the right move. A slow, cocky smirk drew across Dean’s lips, and to her supreme annoyance, Faith felt a rush of excitement that she hadn’t in years. True excitement, not just for dick or a body to warm her bed, but targeted. Like she wanted this specific dick between her thighs—and truth be told, she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt that way. Not even when she’d taken monogamy for a spin, which might be one of the reasons she and Robin had crashed and burned after Sunnydale. And ever since then, she’d more or less reverted to form. Men were interchangeable and anything more was a waste of time. As long as the guy had a good cock and could get her off, she didn’t need anything more.  
  
Bitch of it was, more often than not, the guys who volunteered weren’t up to the task. Something told her, though, that Dean Winchester could rise to the challenge just fine.  
  
“Uh huh,” Dean said, motioning to the bartender, that smile still in place. “Handle it you did.” He aimed a glance at the form on the ground, snickered and kicked it. “Shoulda figured. You look like a chick that likes it rough.”  
  
“I like it pretty much any way I can get it,” Faith replied. “So long as I’m calling the shots.”  
  
“Control freak then.” He didn’t bother playing coy, rather raked his eyes down her body and back up again. “Can’t say I’m not curious.”  
  
She smirked and resituated herself on the barstool. “Can’t say I’m interested,” she replied. “Besides, pretty sure Blondie would throw a hissy, and that ain’t my kind of drama these days, sorry.”  
  
Dean furrowed his brow. “Blondie?”  
  
She nodded and gestured at the woman standing behind him—the waitress he was all but surely fucking on the regular. The woman had stopped her rounds and was watching the exchange with blatant worry and mistrust.  
  
Dean followed her gaze. If he was bothered at being caught, he didn’t let it show. After a long moment, he turned back to Faith, a small, satisfied smirk on his lips. “She knows the score,” he said. “Ain’t promised nothin’.”  
  
“Lucky girl.”  
  
He lifted a shoulder. “You tell me.”  
  
Faith smirked and leaned forward, not missing the way his eyes dropped to her cleavage and lingered there. Most guys this blatant, in her experience, were rotten in the sack, but something told her Dean would be the exception to that rule. And if he proved to be difficult to get close to otherwise, she wasn’t above using her body to seal the deal. See if he was the chatty sort when he was balls deep in a woman, figure out what the hell his deal was so she could report back to Giles like a good little minion.  
  
White-hatting was kind of fun, and fuck knows she had a shit-ton to make up for and likely not enough years left to get it all done. Still, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get on board taking orders. Or running errands. And she was on the fence as to whether or not B volunteering her for this gig had been her playing nice or being low-key passive-aggressive. It could honestly go either way.  
  
“I think you better go make nice with your girlfriend before she slips somethin’ into your next round,” Faith said, pressing closer to him. “I decide I wanna ride, you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
He smirked and gave her another long, appraising look. “Counting on it.”  
  
Then, without another word, he turned and walked off—not back to the stage, but toward the little toady that seemed to follow him everywhere. The British guy in the nice suit. Faith didn’t bother playing coy, because British certainly wasn’t. The look on his face was somewhere between concerned and annoyed, though what he had to worry about was anyone’s guess. Unless he had a hard-on for Dean, which didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility, but Faith didn’t get the impression that Dean swung that way.  
  
All right. First contact made. And from what she’d seen, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a guy wasting away the hours in some dive, hitting on anything with a double-X chromosome, annoying the regulars with bad karaoke, and somewhat eager to land in a fight. Not exactly what she’d call healthy, but what the hell did she know? Faith had missed the boat on healthy a long fucking time ago—likely had never had the chance to make it in the first place.  
  
Still, she couldn’t deny she was looking forward to seeing more of Dean up close and personal. The boy was fun to look at, hella entertaining to watch, and just reckless enough to appeal to the side of her that she probably oughta try to bury once and for all.  
  
But since Faith wasn’t exactly known for her stellar life choices, it would be off-brand to go strictly straight-and-narrow. A girl still had to have fun.  
  
And she intended to.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the damn spell that had done it.

Willow’s spell, the one that had activated every girl with the slightest bit of Slayer potential across the freaking globe. Sure, doing that had saved the world at the time—and say thank you—but that had been the short-term plan. B sure as hell hadn’t had much in mind for what to do after the world was full of super-powered chicks and no watchers left to guide them through this shit. And with the Watchers Council having been blown to matchbox-sized pieces, there wasn’t any sense or order to what was supposed to come next.

In many ways, Faith dug it. The tenuous relationship she’d had with the Watchers Council notwithstanding, it made perfect sense that the power be given to the ladies who were out there doing all the fighting. This governing by old white men bullshit was out, and with it, the puritanical nonsense that, while not responsible for her stint to the dark side, had definitely made things worse. With B calling the shots, the brave new slayer-filled world might be something she could be proud to be a part of. And hell, Faith was just happy for the chance to make something of herself. Even after the throw-down in Sunnydale, after risking her neck for the little sister slayers and the world itself, she was more than aware of how lopsided she was on the moral scorecard. Doubted seriously there was enough heavy lifting to do in the whole goddamned world to even it out again.

But fuck if she wouldn’t try. Which was why she was here, in fucking Beulah, North Dakota, scoping out the would-be monster hunter as he drunkenly belted out lyrics to the same songs he’d sung yesterday. Because he and his brother were apparently hot shit and the sort of allies Buffy and friends could use.

While G had been overseas, he’d done some digging on other secret organizations devoted to fighting the good fight, which had been one hell of a revelation to Faith—and B, she’d been happy to note—because, fuck, there were more of them? Where the hell had these assholes been this whole goddamned time? The First fucking Evil decided to make a play for the world, and the Men of Letters—another crew of stuffy old white dudes, Faith was more than willing to bet—had sat on their hands.

The American branch at least had an excuse, being that they’d more or less been wiped out. It was the _less_ part that Faith was to explore. Freshly homeless and in need of a place to help begin training the several hundred—or thousand, they hadn’t gotten the official count—of super-strong chicks, Giles had found and tracked down a stronghold for the Men of Letters in Lebanon, Kansas. He’d shown up, intending to poke around and maybe buy the place if it was for sale, but had found it slightly more occupied than he’d expected.

Faith still wasn’t sure what all had gone down, though smart money was on the bet that Giles had been hit at least once, maybe knocked out. That still seemed to be his go-to move. Whatever the outcome, they’d learned that two Men of Letters guys were still active in the good ole US of A. Monster fighters who apparently had a reputation, though Faith had heard diddly squat about either of them. Sam, Dean, and Castiel—an actual motherfucking angel—made three. And though Sam Winchester had been interested enough to listen to Giles’s story about an army of women that needed a place to train if they chose to enter the fight, he’d been a bit preoccupied. Seemed his brother had up and disappeared on him, leaving nothing behind but a melodramatic note telling him not to look for him. Because yeah, that shit always worked.

Way Giles told it, he wasn’t even sure Sam Winchester had believed him about slayers. The guy was a dead fucking end until someone figured out how to solve a problem like Dean. And being that B had gotten a phone call from Los Angeles that her British honeypot was apparently back and in ghost-form, that lucky someone was Faith.

“If this is as important as Giles says it is, we need someone who can hold their own to make with the approach,” Buffy had told her. “The new girls are too volatile.”

“And I’m not?” Faith had retorted. She hadn’t been sure if she’d been asking B or herself that. Being around people while not chasing down her soulless would-be bestie or helping save the world was something she was still getting used to. Prison had forced her to keep a lid on her shit—socializing among the real world was something else entirely. And _volatile_ was what had landed her ass behind bars in the first place.

“Well,” Buffy had replied, “maybe the right kind of volatile. Also, I know you can handle yourself. And others.”

Jury was still out on whether or not that had been a compliment.

The first step was done. Dean Winchester was very much alive, though about as far a cry from a demon hunter as Faith figured a guy could get. It was her third day at the Black Spur—which apparently made her a regular in the eye of the bartender, who shot over a pint of whatever was on tap the second she claimed her stool.

Ace detective she was not, but from where she sat, she figured that good ole Dean had gotten fed up with the hunter lifestyle and decided to cash his chips in before he got himself nice and dead. Seemed reasonable, at least, being that the guy didn’t have something like a sacred calling keeping him in the game. Granted, there was something just dangerous enough about him to peg him as the sort that preferred his hands on the dirty side.

This much she’d relayed to Giles last night.

“Thinkin’ that note he left for little brother mighta been the end of it,” she’d said right before stuffing a warrior-sized piece of pizza in her mouth. And damn, she’d been out of the big house for a few months now, but tell that to her tastebuds. Food had never tasted so good in her life. “He just up and decided to go to Disneyland. Sam ever think of that?”

“I don’t think relaying as much would be in our favor,” Giles had replied. “See what else you can find out.”

“How close you want me to get to this guy? ’Cause from where I’m sittin’, I can get wicked close.”

Though she knew Giles wasn’t the tweed-stuffed virgin she’d once pegged him to be, she would have sworn she could hear him blushing through the phone. “I would never ask you to compromise yourself in that way.”

Faith had snorted outright. “If you’re gonna be compromised, that’s the best way. Think this guy might be fun to ride, and fuck knows I haven’t had a good one since Robin and I split.”

There had been some stuttering at that, followed by what she was sure had been a glasses polish.

“Just be careful,” he’d said. “I’ve done some inquiring and this man is… Well, word has it he has a temper.”

Faith had pulled the phone back to study it before pressing it against her ear again. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I know, I know, but still, watch yourself. The things I’ve heard about him indicate he is not…well, the typical sort of hunter. He’s been to Hell, apparently, and was quite a skilled torturer down there before his resurrection. And that’s just one accolade on his resume.” There had been a pause. “Honestly, I’m a bit flummoxed as to how our paths haven’t crossed. Seems he and his brother were rather nomadic prior to discovering their Men of Letters lineage, abiding by rumor and research to hunt down demons and other such creatures across the country. With all the demonic activity we had in Sunnydale, they almost certainly would have had to have heard of us before.”

“Maybe they knew B was there and that shit was taken care of.”

“I highly doubt it. When we spoke, the younger Mr. Winchester didn’t seem to have the first clue what a slayer was, beyond the myth. Though he had heard of Buffy, he blatantly refused to believe she was a real person. At any rate, from what I’ve heard of Dean Winchester, he isn’t to be underestimated. So do be careful.” Another pause. “And try not to kill him, if at all possible. I rather think that might close the door on a potential partnership with the American Men of Letters.”

Faith hadn’t said anything back, just grunted before disconnecting the call. She wasn’t sure if that _try not to kill him_ bit had been something he’d added just for her sake or if he would have told Buffy the same, were she here instead.

Probably not. Buffy wasn’t the one with impulse control issues. Except when it came to certain vamps, apparently.

Hell, Faith had already been toying with the idea of throwing the guy a fuck based on the fact that he looked like he’d be good for it. Talking to Giles had increased the urge tenfold, just because she knew he wouldn’t approve.

Not for the first time since she’d arrived, Dean looked at her directly and held her gaze as he belted out more drunken lyrics. His expression didn’t change but it also didn’t need to. She knew what he was thinking.

“Hello, lovely.”

Faith pressed her eyes closed. “Hit on me and I bust your nose on the bar,” she said. “And I ain’t lyin’. Ralph, will you tell this asshole?”

Ralph, the bartender, looked up from the drink he was mixing and offered a short laugh. “Crazy bitch broke Pauly’s face the other day. I’d steer clear.”

Faith curled her lip. “Anyone ever tell you it ain’t wise to call crazy bitches names?”

“Didn’t say the face was one that didn’t need to be broke, now did I?” Ralph retorted. “Seems I remember letting you drink on the house the rest of the night.”

Well, there was that. Turned out that Ralph and Pauly had some bad blood between them, and seeing the guy get his face smashed into the counter by a woman had been, in Ralph’s words, “The highlight of my fucking year.”

“Yes, I caught that little show myself,” said the man beside her, and this time, Faith heard it. The accent. When she turned, she found herself face-to-face with the British guy who seemed to have nominated himself Dean Winchester’s shadow. He flashed her a smile—a not unpleasant smile, though one anyone would be an idiot to trust—and looked her up and down. “Seems you’re quite the admirer. This is, what, three days in a row? Four?”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “You’d have to be here to know, wouldn’t you? That make you the president of the fan club? You who I see about getting my membership card?”

“This isn’t the sort of place that attracts creatures such as yourself,” the man replied. “It’s enough to make a man wonder.”

“Well, if what you’re wondering is why you haven’t gotten laid, might rethink that _creatures_ line.” She snickered and tipped back the fresh drink Ralph had slid her way. “Unless they breed ’em different in North Dakota.”

The man didn’t so much as huff, and for the first time since she’d noticed him, Faith noticed something else. Something that ought to have been wicked obvious, but for some reason hadn’t been. Maybe she’d been a bit too focused on her target—or maybe she was just used to demons looking the part. Either way, she knew it now, and not a moment too late, neither.

The guy wasn’t human.

And suddenly this entire situation with Dean became a whole helluva lot more interesting. A monster hunter throwing back with a demon? The only people who did that kind of shit and got away with it were, well, Buffy and friends. And everyone back at Camp Angel, but those were what the kids would call special circumstances on account of the vamps in question being of the soul-possessing variety. Whoever this guy was, Faith didn’t figure he had any such clause.

The man leaned in closer, his voice a velvety caress but not the sort that left a girl with warm fuzzies. More like kind of velvet someone might wrap around a particularly sharp blade.

“I know you’re not one of mine,” he murmured. “Not an angel parading around in a meat-suit, either. I’d say human, and that is probably as close to the mark as I can get. However, you aren’t _precisely_ human, are you, darling?”

Well that was enough to wipe the grin off her face, and for the first time since the night she’d hunted down Angelus to disastrous results, Faith felt something that might have been unease slide down her spine. And hell if that didn’t piss her off.

“Sorry,” she replied, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “Don’t kiss and tell on the first date.”

That might have been a dumb thing to say. No, scratch that—it had been a fucking stupid thing to say, ’cause now the creep would know something was up. Normal girls doing little more than whiling away the days in shitty-ass bars didn’t play coy when someone asked if they were human. They got indignant and threw drinks into creeps’ faces.

Faith couldn’t let him see that she’d caught her own error—she had to play it like there hadn’t been an error at all. And thankfully, this was one trick she was more than familiar with. So when he perked his eyebrows at her, undoubtedly waiting for her to panic and overcorrect, she pulled on the scowl that had kept the other inmates from getting all up in her shit and stared back at him.

_Just try to scare me, motherfucker. Just try it._

He definitely expected her to blink first, she saw. This was a guy who had little tolerance for his authority being questioned. Some upper-class demon, then. Deal just kept getting better.

When she failed to give him the easy victory, the man let out a little sigh, then drew nearer so she could feel his breath caressing her ear. “Whatever your game is, I urge you to reconsider. You are in well over your head,” he said, his voice a low purr.

“Nah, all’s five-by-five from where I’m sittin’,” Faith replied before throwing back another drink.

“Allow me to elaborate. You see, my friend has certain needs that must be met on a regular basis.”

She barked a laugh. “Go fuckin’ figure.”

“These are not carnal needs,” the man continued. “In fact, things can get rather bloody. The longer he abstains, the messier the situation is likely to become. I have been all too happy to provide means for him to satisfy his darker urges, and trust me when I say he does not discriminate. If it comes down to it, it won’t matter that you’re a pretty girl. He will take your head today and have forgotten you by tomorrow. Is that any clearer?”

This time, Faith managed to kill her smirk. If the little toady had aimed to freak her shit out, he had missed the mark by a fuck-ton.

So there was something going on with Dean Winchester beyond just wanderlust. Not that she didn’t understand the need to cause some pain—if she sat still too long, her slayer genes got all restless. This had been a bitch to contend with in prison, but she’d managed. Mostly. There had been the odd scuffle here and there that she hadn’t done as much to prevent as she could have. Newbies who wanted to make a name for themselves by taking down the baddest bitch in the joint and didn’t pay attention to the warnings given by other inmates. For the most part, she’d played the perfect penitent, kept her head down and her knuckles clean. But every now and then the craving would hit—the need to unleash and let someone have it. The sort of need that couldn’t be ignored or wished away, the sort that demanded absolute surrender.

If Dean Winchester had a similar sort of need, odds were good that there was something otherworldly at play. His British friend, with his talk of humans and meat-suits, had all but confirmed it.

Seemed she had a reason to get up close to Dean after all.

“Do me a solid,” Faith said, shoving off her barstool, and throwing a wad of cash on the counter. “Tell your friend I’ve reconsidered and a ride might do me good.”

The guy’s brow furrowed, irritation sparking behind his eyes. “Did you not hear me? I just said—”

“Was sittin’ right here the whole time. I know what you said, and to that, a big fat who cares.” She paused, then tossed him a smirk. “I’ll trust he can find me just fine on his own.”

Faith brushed past him without another word, though she did make a point to bump his shoulder with hers hard enough that he stumbled.

It was just a matter of time, she figured, before Dean got the message. And until then, there was a foosball table with her name all over it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore amalgamation ahead.

Crowley was bitching. Again. And though Dean wasn’t really paying attention, he figured it was more of the same song the dude been singing for the past few weeks. Shit about Hell—shit Dean didn’t give a shit about and never would. The guy was good company some of the time and the rest he was just a pain in the ass.

“She’s a hunter.”

That much penetrated the white noise that occupied his brain every time Crowley started rambling. Dean swirled on his seat to give the King of Hell his full attention. “What?”

“That girl. The one you’ve been eye-fucking the past few days. She’s a hunter.”

 _Well, ain’t that a kick in the pants._ Not that he was entirely surprised—the chick had a presence about her that wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. In a dump like this, she did stick out, but she did so while looking right at home. Could be he’d run into her at the Roadhouse once upon a time, but somehow he didn’t think so. Figured she was the kinda girl a guy didn’t forget.

“If she’s a hunter, she ain’t very good at her job,” Dean replied before grabbing his beer off the bar and throwing back a healthy swallow. “Hasn’t come at me once. Hell, the bitch blew me off the other day.”

“Yes, and naturally that put an end to your interest in her,” Crowley replied dryly. “Hence all the eye-fucking.”

“She didn’t seem too interested in the other kind, so I take what I can get.” Dean snickered and tossed back another mouthful of beer. “What makes you think she’s a hunter?”

“The fact that I have eyes, for one thing, and they are indeed connected to my brain. That thing you might try to use one of these days.” Crowley released a long breath and dragged a hand down his face. “Does she seem like the sort of clientele this godawful place caters to? You’ve seen the way the others look at her.”

“Yeah, a bunch of drunks ogling a hot chick. There’s a head-scratcher.”

“It’s because women like her don’t come to places like this,” Crowley hissed. “Not unless they’re being paid to take off their clothes or incredibly short on ideas for a bachelorette party. And all she does when she comes in here is study you.”

Dean smirked and spread his arms. “I’m an interesting guy.”

“Not _that_ interesting. At least not to people who don’t know who you are.”

“Ouch. My pride.” He rubbed absently at his chest with the hand holding the beer bottle. “Words can hurt, Crowley. Anyone ever tell you that?”

For a moment, he thought Crowley might actually explode. It was fun, not to mention easy, to get him strung out like this. If there was one thing the bastard couldn’t stand, it was being ignored, whether directly or indirectly.

“You want to play games with a hunter, that’s your prerogative,” he said at last, seizing control. “Just be careful with this one, if you insist on making an arse of yourself. There’s something off about her. I thought perhaps she wasn’t entirely human, but bugger if I know.”

“You don’t think she’s human?” That was new. Dean hadn’t gotten any otherworldly vibes off the chick, but then his attention had been elsewhere. Namely on her tits, which were, he had to admit, damn near perfect. At least from what he could see through her shirt. He’d undone many a bra in his day and figured he had a decent enough feel for what made a good set of knockers.

“I don’t know—that’s the whole bloody point,” Crowley replied, his eyes flashing. “I asked her as much—”

“You asked this girl if she was human?” Dean snickered and shook his head. Figured. There were times Crowley was the very picture of underhanded discretion and other times when he had all the subtlety of an anvil to the face.

“She was evasive in her response, to say the least. Evasive, Dean. _Not_ defensive. She didn’t so much as throw a drink in my face. Tell me, does that sound like an ordinary girl to you?”

Not particularly, but he wasn’t about to judge other people’s kinks. Say the chick was a hunter—big fucking deal. Hunters died just as easily as regular folk, sometimes—often—even easier. They just waltzed into dangerous shit without so much as a backward glance. He and Sam were testament enough to that, given how many times between the two of them they’d kicked the bucket.

“Well, if she is a hunter, think we know who she’s here to see.” Again, Dean spread his arms, grinning. “She tries anything and it ain’t gonna matter anyway.” He pointed to the Mark, and despite himself, suppressed a shiver when it seemed to pulse beneath his fingertip. “Got myself a handy little insurance policy so I don’t know what the hell you’re so worried about.”

“Your carelessness, for one. If this hunter found you, so can others. Others like, say, your brother, assuming she’s not here as a favor to him. You know what will happen if he gets his hands on you.” Crowley smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Sanctified blood goes in, demon goes out. Trust me when I tell you it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Well, that thought was enough to steal the spring from his step. And knowing Sammy, he’d have pulled all the stops to find his missing big bro even though Dean had been rather clear on the whole _let me go_ thing. All the stops, in Sam’s book, would mean asking for help from people he trusted, yeah, but that there was a tiny list and Dean couldn’t see Busty McHotty making the top three in such a short amount of time.

Also, Sam had no idea he was a demon—he hadn’t exactly stuck around to break the news, so sending a hunter after him made the kind of sense that didn’t.

“Gonna talk to her,” Dean said, holding up his hands, beer bottle and all. “That’s all. Won’t make a mess unless she asks me to real nice like. If she’s here for me, better we find out now than later. Either way, she’ll need to be handled.”

And he definitely wouldn’t mind handling her.

Crowley scowled at him a moment longer, but Dean could tell he wasn’t going to fight anymore, because he knew he was right. At length, he sighed and nodded. “All well and good. Just…might try to handle this a bit more delicately than, say, a punch to the face. Hitting a woman is a great way to get the wrong kind of attention on us.”

“I ain’t stupid, dick,” Dean snapped. He threw back the rest of his beer, slammed the empty bottle on the counter, then stalked off to find the hot chick who just might be here on a mission to kill him.

At least the next few minutes were sure to be entertaining, no matter which way the pendulum swung.

* * * * *

Slayer strength, abilities, and instincts made for a lethal combination in any number of areas. Foosball was not one of them. In fact, when the guy playing opposite her scored his fourth goal, Faith had nearly cracked one of the serving handles. She actually wasn’t too sure she _hadn’t_ cracked it and had sulked off to distance herself from the table before someone realized the thing was busted.

Thankfully, there were other things to catch her interest. Foosball might not be her game, but she could throw a wicked hand at darts, as the poor schmuck who was trying to charm his way into her pants was quick to learn.

“How’d you get so good at this, hon?” asked the poor schmuck in question, sidling close enough that he was practically on top of her.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know,” she replied, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“Oh, I think I do.”

That was a new voice—but a familiar one. She turned to her would-be date only to find Dean lurking behind him, about as uncomfortably close to said date as the guy was to her.

“Why don’t you fuck off?” Dean asked the man conversationally. “Lady clearly ain’t buyin’ whatever it is you think you have to sell.”

The schmuck—whose name she believed was Roger or Bill or whatever—twisted his face into an ugly grimace and shoved at Dean’s chest, which proved to be about as effective as shoving at a stone wall. This only furthered What’s-His-Face’s aggravation, and he puffed up like he had any chance in a fight. “This here’s a private conversation,” he said. “Why don’t you see your way out?”

Dean didn’t bother hiding his amusement, snickering outright before turning his gaze to her. “Heard from a little birdie you were havin’ second thoughts about the other night. That true?”

“Hey, buddy—”

Faith rolled her eyes and pulled on What’s-His-Face’s arm to redirect his attention to her. “Buddy, it ain’t happenin’. And unless you want me to make an example of your face, you’ll turn around and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of before I put you there. You hear me?”

Dean gave a low, rumbly laugh that really shouldn’t have done anything for her, but did anyway.

What’s-His-Face turned an interesting shade of purple, glaring daggers in a way she was all too familiar with. “Pauly was right. You are a cocktease.”

“Ain’t exactly breaking news,” Faith retorted and pushed past him without awaiting a response.

As she expected, Dean was right there on her heels. “Why’s it I always run into you when you’re fending off creeps?”

What’s-His-Face apparently wasn’t done. She had her back to him, so she didn’t see, but she heard his heavy footsteps, followed by heavier breathing, then, “Hey, wait just a—”

It happened in a flash. There was a hard smack of flesh hitting flesh, a howl of pain, and then something heavy crashed. Faith whirled around just in time to see Dean step over the asswipe, grab him by the shirt collar, and land another punch that knocked the poor guy’s head hard against the floor with a resounding _crack_.

“Learn when to call it, dick,” Dean snarled, rearing his fist back again. And Faith acted without thought—she seized Dean about the wrist and pulled hard enough to have him stumbling back and away from the pitiful thing on the ground. Only it wasn’t as easy as it should have been—Dean was a well-built guy but he was only human, and Faith could kick the ass of everyone in this goddamn place without breaking much of a sweat.

Except maybe not.

When he whirled back around and met her gaze, she saw something dangerous flash across his face. A wild kind of dangerous.

Oh yeah, there was something going on with this guy. He wasn’t a vamp—too warm for that, plus she’d seen him outside a time or two without going up into flames. He reminded her a bit of Caleb in how freakishly strong he seemed, and that was not an encouraging thought.

“Guess he was right,” Dean said, glancing down at his wrist, which she still had in a vise-grip.

“Been called worse than a cocktease,” Faith replied, releasing him and taking a step back.

“I’m sure you have, darlin’, but that ain’t what I’m talking about.” He covered the space she’d put between them in one confident stride, having apparently dismissed the man he’d been seconds away from pounding through the flooring. “Come on, hot stuff. Let’s see what you got.”

“What the fuck—”

“Don’t you _what the fuck_ me.”

This time, Dean was doing the seizing. He gripped her by the upper arm, the pressure there enough to hurt, and dragged her from the bar proper and into the hallway that led to the johns. He leveraged his hold on her there to send her smashing against the wall, and _fuck_ , she was so not used to being manhandled. The little toady who had bitched and moaned into her ear earlier had done his best to freak her shit out, but it hadn’t been like this. There had been at least something in British’s gaze that said he had a reason for doing the crap he did and saying the shit crap said. Looking into Dean’s eyes, Faith saw none of it. He genuinely had no fucks to give.

And yeah, that shit was terrifying. People who had no fucks to give were the most dangerous animal out there. She should know—she’d been one of them. Wild and out of control, and not too eager to hold onto the only thing of value she’d had left, even if it was her life.

“Let’s try this again,” Dean said with a cold, unpleasant smirk. “What the fuck are you? And don’t bullshit me, babe, because I’ll know and it really won’t end well for you.”

All right, fine. Faith was nothing if not a survivor. She hadn’t intended to show her stuff back there but she had and now she had to roll with it. “What do you think I am?” she asked, willing her racing heart to calm.

That ugly smirk on his otherwise not-ugly face stretched wider. “Not the time to be cute.”

“Can’t help it. Comes naturally.”

“Crowley said you weren’t one of his and yeah, ain’t really getting the demon vibe off you. Not an angel, either. I can go through the list, baby, and trust me when I say there ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen so you will not surprise me. And dependin’ on how you answer, I might even let you walk outta here.”

Faith exhaled and was startled to find, when she smiled, that it was genuine. “I’ve kicked asses tougher than yours.”

“No, you really haven’t. See this?” He tapped on a funky-looking birthmark on his right arm. “Means I can go all night.”

“You have _no_ idea how many times I’ve been fed that line.”

Dean leaned closer, and for a wild moment, she thought he might kiss her. “Knock me down all you want, but I’ll just keep comin’ back for more. One of us will exhaust first and sweetheart, it ain’t ever gonna be me. So one more time, for all the doughnuts— _what. Are. You_?”

Yeah, she’d had enough of this. Faith braced her hands on Dean’s chest and shoved. Hard. Hard enough that a normal guy would have been punched right through the wall at his back, rather than just slam against it. Hard enough that the corkboard that hung there with its flyers and advertisements for roommates went crashing to the floor. Hard enough that big bad Dean looked surprised.

“I’m a motherfucking vampire slayer, you dipshit,” Faith said, feeling brave and reckless, which she knew was the worst possible combination, but fuck if she could help herself. “And ain’t it your luck, I ain’t the good one. So touch me like that again and we’ll take your _all night_ theory to the bank. I beat bigger, better-looking bitches than you when I was in the clink, and I was damn good at it too. Been on the wagon a day too long maybe today _is_ a good day to die, so come at me.”

Dean was staring at her, breathing hard, his face twisted into a bizarre mask of anger and confusion. For a moment, she didn’t know whether he was going to start screaming or swinging or both—anything seemed possible. If he did throw a punch, she was prepared to bruise him up nicely, because on the road to redemption or not, Faith wasn’t anybody’s bitch.

“A vampire slayer.” This he practically snarled. “A _vampire slayer_? What, like _Buffy_ _the Vampire Slayer_? Are you for real?”

It was hard, but somehow Faith managed to keep her eyes from rolling out of her head.

“Sorry, Charlie, I’m what you’d call the evil twin.” Faith spread her arms. “Last I heard, B took off to sunny California ’cause one of the vamps she’s hot for came back as a ghost. She and I ain’t exactly tight, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t have the latest gossip. But yeah, _like_ Buffy, only hotter, stronger, faster, and a lot less prone to taking bullshit. Though when I talk to her next, I’ll let her know that even in Bumfuck, Nowhere, she can’t outrun her fan club. She might send you a signed headshot if you’re a lucky ducky.”

“Okay, now I know you’re just making shit up.”

“What? Sorry that they didn’t send the famous one to handle you, but she’s got better things to do.”

“There’s no such thing as a Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Dean roared at her with such authority Faith almost busted up laughing at how twisted around he was. “Just like there ain’t no Santy Claus or Easter Bunny. Some assholes way back when thought, for some stupid reason, the myth of a teenage girl would keep the monsters in line. So try again, sister. This time, try with the fuckin’ truth.”

“Man, I am almost embarrassed for you. Though I can relate—I have spent the past few years wishin’ Buffy wasn’t a thing, but she is, and she’s a pain in the ass.” Faith hesitated, brain scrambling. Then a thought occurred to her and she put it into action before her better senses could overpower her impulsive ones. “That British bitch who sniffs around you like a lost puppy. Demon, right?”

Dean looked seconds from losing complete control, but somehow he managed to growl out, “Yeah…”

“High ranking fucker? Ask him about vampire slayers and just how _not real_ they are. Then get ready to feel like a fool.”

There was nothing for a moment—a weighty, dark nothing that did a whole lot of talking. Faith took the reprieve to gather her bearings and mentally catalog the things she’d learned. Things like how Dean was stronger than the average bear and, to hear him say it, impossible to slow down. In other words, not the breakable human hunter she’d been sent to find. Something had happened in the space between when his brother had last seen him and now that had made him _other_. What kind of _other_ was up in the air.

The second thing she’d learned—Dean was dangerous. Probably not to her—and say thank you to the PTB—but to pretty much everyone else. He had a hair-trigger, which she could respect, but little self-control. The only reason she figured he’d kept from unleashing on her was his own curiosity, though she doubted that could restrain him for long.

At last, Dean shoved off the wall, strode to where the hallway met the bar, and bellowed, “Crowley!” He stood there, glowering at the other patrons and waiting.

A few seconds later, British was there, looking anything but happy.

“I do not answer summons, Dean. I _give_ them.”

“Got you here, didn’t it?” Dean turned his glare back on Faith and crossed his arms. “Would you tell this bitch that there ain’t no such thing as Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

Whatever else, Crowley had clearly not been expecting that. His eyebrows shot skyward and the hostility that Faith had seen on his face abruptly vanished. “Well, I can’t say I was expecting that.” He favored Faith with a bemused look. “I said _hunter_ , not slayer.”

“Yeah. I got this _slayer_ bullshit from her.”

“I can tell you she is most assuredly _not_ Buffy Summers.” Now Crowley was smirking. At least someone was enjoying themselves. “Haven’t had the pleasure, myself, but word is she’s a tiny blonde thing who wouldn’t have been nearly as…well, _passive_ here as our friend has been.”

Now Faith was fighting a smile because the look on Dean’s face was fucking priceless.

“Not Buffy,” she agreed, then lifted a shoulder. If she was to cozy up to someone who was currently cozy with a demon, she might as well fall back on her credentials. They’d be easy enough to double-check. “Though not for lack of trying. Stole the bitch’s skin one time. Got to stay in it just long enough to bang her boyfriend before anyone caught wise.”

“What the _fuck_?” Dean shifted his attention from Crowley to Faith then to Crowley again. “You can’t be serious. There’s no such thing as vampire slayers!”

“I don’t bother with them much, myself,” Crowley said, keeping his gaze on Faith. “Excepting the odd update in the newsletter—which demon tried to end the world, which apocalypse they prevented, and a bunch of assorted nonsense. For the past several years, the news has been all _Buffy, Buffy, Buffy._ ”

Well, that figured. “Always a fuckin’ bridesmaid,” she muttered. “Told D here I’m the evil twin.”

“Even if slayers weren’t complete horseshit, ain’t they supposed to be like the Highlander?” Dean demanded. “There can only be one?”

“There it is,” Crowley said, nodding. “The rare good point, but that is outdated information. Buffy herself caused an anomaly some years back. Actually, way to hear it, Squirrel, she dies almost as much as you do. Plus… I am not mistaken, am I? That _event_ in Sunnydale a couple of weeks ago…”

No point in playing dumb. Faith dipped her head. “Big spell triggered all the Potentials in the world, so get used to seeing a lot more of us around.”

“Alas, at the cost of a good hellmouth.” Crowley sighed. “I suppose the one in Cleveland will have to suffice until I find a better location.”

“The hell are you two talking about? So now there just happen to be _tons_ of slayers? This thing that didn’t exist three minutes ago.” Dean rolled his eyes. He looked well and pissed now, like he might start throwing punches anyway. “There aren’t enough _vampires_ left for there to be slayers. And I’m a guy who should know.”

“Ah.” Crowley slid his hands into his pockets and shifted his attention from Faith at last. “You and your brother are—or _were—_ rather adept at finding some of the remaining altered breeds. I used to call them _dhampirs_ but since you and Moose didn’t know the difference, and I saw no advantage in enlightening you, I just sort of rolled with it.”

“What the fuck is a dhampir?”

“As I said, an altered breed of vampire. I believe the going theory is a witch and a vampire got naked and she bespelled his swimmers from dead to alive. Not sure what the intent was there, but the result was a superior form of vampire.” He gave Dean a little smirk. “The Alpha Vampire, in fact. And the rest, as they say, was history.”

“Eve created the goddamn Alpha Vamp.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. She created the witch and the vampire who brought him to life, didn’t she?”

If possible, Dean’s scowl deepened.

All the while, Faith was busting mental ass to keep up, her mind taking her back to Sunnydale, to the ugly-ass Turok-Han motherfuckers they’d called ubervamps. Those assholes had been hard enough to kill. Now there was something called an Alpha Vamp in the mix?

Crowley must have read her expression, for he chuckled and waved a hand. “No worries, _Slayer_ , if that is what you are. Dhampirs are, like Dean said, a dying breed. Most were hunted down by what we’ll call the true vampires because, well, who wanted the competition? Those that remain either integrate themselves into society or run into a Winchester. Typically the latter.”

“They were hunted down by hunters,” Dean said gruffly.

“Of course they were,” Crowley replied in an exaggerated, placating voice. The same voice that Faith had heard Spike use on the Potentials on more than one occasion when someone had said something particularly stupid. “Hunters,” he said to Faith, “in the world of the Winchesters, get all the credit, you’ll find.”

Dean just groused and made some comment under his breath. For the moment, at least, it seemed his urge to beat on anything in range had been quelled.

Which was good because, damn, now she was curious. “How were they superior, these other vamps?” she asked the demon. “I ain’t never heard of this.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Still smirking, Crowley lifted a hand and began counting off fingers. “All the things the regular sort can do, with a few extra perks. Can go out in broad daylight. It’s a bit sensitive for them, but they can manage. Crosses don’t affect them. They do have some weaknesses that other vampires don’t, dead man’s blood being among them. Easy ways of blocking out scent. Stakes through the heart will smart but leave no dust mess to tidy up. The most effective way to kill one of these vam—sorry, _dhampirs_ is decapitation.”

Faith nodded, absorbing all of this as best she could. Of all the things she’d expected when she’d agreed to take this job, learning about yet another sub-breed of vamp hadn’t been on the list. But it was damn useful to know this kind of shit, especially since she was living on the right side of the prison bars once more and had no intention of seeing the inside of a cell again. It’d be a nasty surprise to find some fangy motherfucker who just laughed at her stake. Granted, she figured her next impulse would be to go for the head, anyway, but she wouldn’t turn down a free pointer when she saw one.

“You can’t be a vampire slayer,” Dean snapped, jolting her back to the present. “I’ve accepted a lot of crazy shit over the years, but this?”

“Seriously? Vampire slayers are where you draw the line?” Faith barked a laugh. “Think the poor boy’s been coddled, C.”

“In so many ways there isn’t the time to explore them all,” Crowley agreed. But the shine in his eyes had faded, and he was now favoring her with a look that more or less promised that these next few seconds would be her last. “I don’t mind if Squirrel goes back to his little delusion. Might be more comfortable for him there. I was right, though. You _are_ a hunter. One more dangerous than he or Moose has ever encountered. And that’s what brought you here, isn’t it? Little Sam learned that big brother turned demon and he sent the big guns.”

“If Sammy had any fuckin’ clue, he’d be here himself. No way he’d send some crazy bitch he’s just met—or anyone else, for that matter. Trust me, this ain’t the kinda thing you outsource.”

Faith brought up her hands, doing her best to keep her expression impassive, like a massive lightbulb had gone on in her head. “You assholes are jumpy motherfuckers,” she replied in a calm voice. “Anyone ever tell you that? I’m here ’cause I’m on the lam and no one in their right fucking mind would think to look for Faith Lehane in North Dakota. So how’s about we just turn around and—”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean barked. “You’re a vampire slayer? Like the real kind? Think I wanna piece of that. Ya’ll are supposed to be a bitch to put down, and I’m in the mood to put down some bitches.”

She snickered. “Try to take a piece and you’ll choke on it.”

“You’re Faith Lehane?” Crowley blurted, all hostility gone in place of a broad, wide smile that told her on its own that she hadn’t been a complete dumbass to drop her name. Whether or not these dicks had heard of her had been a gamble, but being that she used to run in circles close to theirs, one worth taking. “Well, I’ll be damned. If you’ll pardon the pun.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Dean demanded.

“It means, if half the things I’ve heard about this one are true, she might be worth keeping around after all.”

“Ain’t gonna take that bet.”

“Well, if I’m wrong, then by all means, try to kill her. It will be an entertaining show, either way. Better than listening to you butcher another one-hit wonder.” Crowley gestured at the bar, not taking his eyes off Faith. “In the meantime, my dear, join me for a drink.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kimmie asked for an update, and since I had a spare chapter lying around, I decided to give it to her.

Since he’d opened his eyes as a demon, there hadn’t been much to want for anything. He went where he felt like going, did what he felt like doing, drank what he felt like drinking, and fucked who he felt like fucking. It had been a breeze, a relief, the invisible duty he’d saddled himself with as a kid and never managed to completely shuck was gone and never coming back. Sammy could take care of himself and, more to the point, Dean didn’t care if he did, and not caring was the best. Really. Raise all the glasses to not giving a shit.

And aside from occasionally needing to remind Crowley that he was no one’s bitch, life on this side of humanity had been downright swell. No obligations, no burdens—nothing to do but whatever the fuck he wanted to do.

Then this bitch had come along.

In truth, Dean didn’t know what to make of her. The whole _slayer_ shtick still seemed like a bad gimmick, because wouldn’t he have heard about this by now? Wouldn’t he have run into one of these so-called _real vamps_ with all the time he and Sam had spent digging up corpses to torch? Wouldn’t _super strong hot chick_ have hit the hunter circuits? To hear Faith talk, the real, not-fake Buffy the Vampire Slayer had been saving the world professionally since she was fifteen. Just so happened that all those apocalypses took place in the same damn place, so no need to become a nomad and bustle across the country, and ain’t that swell?

Crowley’s pissy attitude toward the chick had vanished almost embarrassingly fast. Meant he’d probably pitch a bitch once Dean announced it was time to gank her. Though he wasn’t even sure why he wanted to kill her, except there wasn’t much he didn’t want to kill these days. The urge was mostly mild, but hard to resist when he was pissed off or annoyed, and he always seemed to feel better once he made some ugly motherfucker bleed.

Though this Faith chick was hardly an ugly motherfucker and that was pretty much the only thing keeping him from giving in to the urge to smash her face against the table and cut off her head. There just might be other worthwhile things to do with it.

“Poor Richie,” Crowley was saying, staring pensively into his beer bottle and shaking his head. “I worried, you know. It’s easy to become overconfident once you believe you’re invincible. I was truly sad to see him go.” He sighed and glanced at Dean. “Indeed sorry to see _Sunnydale_ go. Place had so much potential. You would have loved it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sounds… _sunny_.”

“It was a hellmouth, you nit,” Crowley said, flashing Faith a look that screamed _see what I have to put up with_? “A hub of all sorts of nasty activity. You didn’t need to track demons down, they all came to you. But I suppose it was only a matter of time before everything went to shit, especially with Richie gone.”

“Who the fuck is Richie?”

“Mayor Richard Wilkins III,” Crowley said in a low growl. “And show some bloody respect. The man was a visionary.”

“That’s all well and good, but what does any of this have to do with her?”

Faith gave him the side-eye. He ached to smack that smugness right off her face, see if he could ugly her up a bit.

Crowley sighed, dropping his head and caressing his brow. “Slayers were created by a bunch of holy nutters who were too chicken-shit to fight their own battles. The power passes from one girl to the next at the time of the active Slayer’s death. Are you with me so far?”

Dean rolled his eyes to show him he was, if not begrudgingly.

“These holy nutters sadly didn’t realize just how big the world was,” Crowley went on. “Or didn’t appreciate how large it would become, saddling just one minuscule girl with the strength to take out a lot of things, but not everything. Correct me if I’m wrong, dear, but isn’t Buffy Summers among the oldest slayers?”

“No, that’d be me.” Faith tipped back her own shot, winked. “B don’t count, far as I’m concerned. The bitch died twice. Pretty sure I’m wearing the Miss America crown.”

“None of this has to do with shit,” Dean snapped, pounding a fist on the table. “What does any of this have to do with that Richie guy you mentioned and why should I give a fuck?”

“It has to do with Richie because Richie sold his soul to me in one of the better bargains I can recall making.” Crowley sat back, his eyes not leaving Faith. “Not your typical crossroads exchange, Dean. Richie wanted to make the world a better, more entertaining place. Some would call it the _end_ of the world, but that was never his objective, was it, dear?”

Faith rubbed her lips together. “Can’t rule if there ain’t nothin’ to rule.”

“Precisely.” Crowley grinned and tipped his head to her. “He was going to run operations up here and provide reinforcements while I assumed control below. As the best plans do, though, this one was waylaid by a woman. Or a girl, rather. She was hardly a woman then.”

There was a pause. Dean leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “So this Buffy chick gets all up in your business, ruins what you got goin’ on this hellmouth or whatever, and you don’t think to tell me once over these last few years that she ain’t a fucking fairy tale?”

Crowley shrugged. “I had high hopes for Richie, but not much confidence. Ascensions are damned tricky to pull off and he was, well, a bit conceited. And I still got his soul, in the end, so I came out ahead. It truly wasn’t a terrible surprise to lose him. What _was_ surprising, though, was what I learned after. That toward the end of his life, he’d found love.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot skyward and he eyeballed the so-called Slayer with new interest. “Got freaky with a politician. And they say I’m the demon.”

The combination of fury and disgust that flashed across her face had him fighting off a smirk. Yeah, he’d bet she’d be a real hellcat between the sheets. That alone might be worth sparing her life for a few days, depending on how good the sex was.

“If you like your teeth where they are, I’d keep that trap of yours shut,” she snapped, real fire flaring in her eyes. “Nasty-ass motherfucker.”

Crowley couldn’t have looked more tickled if he’d tried. Yet when he spoke, it was with a tempered calm. “I believe Richie’s relationship with Faith was more, ah, paternal. Somewhat like yours and Moose’s with the late Bobby Singer. She was an instrumental force in his plans to Ascend. And were it not for the fact that Buffy Summers put her in a coma before that happy occasion, it could very well be that the world would have looked very different than it does today.”

“So she’s better than you,” Dean drawled, leaning back. “Buffy is.”

He knew he’d landed a blow when she glared at him, raw pain radiating in those fiery eyes of hers. And damn, it was exquisite.

“You wanna go, asshole?”

“In so many ways.” Dean glanced back to Crowley. “So what’s your plan here? So far all you’ve given me is a bedtime story. Ain’t hearin’ much to be impressed with. She tried to help a dude and failed, then got her ass landed in a fucking coma. All adds up to some pretty useless superpowers and does shit to explain what she’s doin’ here.”

Faith slammed her hands on the table, practically launching out of her seat. “I don’t remember owin’ you jack in terms of explanations.”

“Be nice. I haven’t decided not to kill you yet.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t care how supercharged you are. You gotta sleep sometime.”

“Dean is the current bearer of the Mark of Cain,” Crowley said pleasantly. Little fucker was enjoying this way too much. “Among other things, that means he can’t die. Or if he does die, he turns demon.”

Faith snickered and arched an eyebrow. “So that’s what happened? You croaked and woke up super-juiced? Were you always this cranky an asshole, or is it a demon thing?”

“Actually, you’re seeing me at my very best,” Dean replied, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Been livin’ la vida loca and I aim to keep on keepin’ on. You get in my way and yeah, I’ll turn cranky on your ass.”

“How exactly have I gotten in your way?”

“Still don’t know why you’re here. If Sammy sent you—”

“I don’t know who the fuck Sammy is and I don’t care,” she snapped. “And even though it ain’t any of your business, demon dick, I’m here ’cause suddenly there are a fuckload of slayers in the mix and I like my odds at keepin’ off the radar in places like this. Ain’t in a big hurry to have my ass hauled back to jail now that my use is all dried up.”

“You’re a jailbird?” He vaguely remembered her alluding to this earlier, but hadn’t bothered to chase it. People were always making up shit about themselves to boost their rep.

“Happens when you’re wanted for murder and turn yourself in.”

“So don’t turn yourself in.”

“Advice I coulda used three years ago.” Faith glared at him a moment longer before sinking back into her seat, seeming to deflate a bit. “The life of crime hadn’t exactly done me right. Got it in my head that I needed to atone for the shit I’d done, see if I could white-hat it again down the line, and wouldn’t you know all those assholes forgot about me the second I was behind bars? Only came a-knockin' when they needed my help.” She tossed back a healthy mouthful of sauce. “So I did what I oughta have done from the start and busted out. Thought I could make the team if I threw in with B and friends, but the second that all went down, I became a liability again. Her own bestie tried to end the world once and got more slack than I did, so yeah, I up and bolted. Layin’ low until shit settles, which is how I ended up here. Happy?”

“De-fucking-lighted,” Dean retorted. And yeah, he was. Getting under this bitch’s skin was all kinds of fun. “Sorry I don’t have any tissues on me. Wasn’t prepared for a sob story.”

“Listen, asshole, you asked, I told. I ain’t lookin’ for jack. Just tryin’ to keep off Super Buff’s radar until I can book it out of the goddamn country.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t exactly true, is it? Crowley was right about one thing—you have been eyeballin’ me ever since you showed up. Thought it was just because I’m the prettiest motherfucker in the joint, but you bein’ a slayer—”

“Me bein’ a slayer means I got all sorts of pent-up energy just achin’ to get out at any moment,” she spat. “Can either fight it out or fuck it out. Fighting’s no good at the moment, seein’ as when I fight, it tends to make headlines. So I was left with Option B, and somethin’ told me you could handle it.”

Dean smirked. “Handle it?”

“That I could ride you without breakin’ your dick.”

“That a concern?”

“Baby, fuckin’ a slayer’s like an extreme sport. Ain’t no fun unless there’s risk involved. Not many human boys can take it.” At this, some of the ire on her face began to soften, and then she was smirking right back at him. “Good thing you ain’t human.”

Well, he’d be lying if he said that much didn’t have him intrigued. Even if it was all talk, though Dean didn’t think that likely. Not after the way she’d held onto him before he could lay into the bumpkin that had tried to chase her down. As a human, his strength had been nothing to sneeze at, but also not anything remarkable. Keeping physically fit, even if he treated his body like a pit-stop shitter, was part of the gig, and most chicks he knew couldn’t best him at arm wrestling matches. As a demon wearing the Mark of Cain, well, there wasn’t much that got in his way. And if it tried, he made it sorry.

He hadn’t thought much about what this strength of his could mean between the sheets. Typically, when he was inside a woman, he wasn’t thinking about killing her, so the Mark remained more or less dormant.

“All right,” Dean said with a careless grin. “Let’s see what you got, girlfriend.”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He spread his arms, shrugged. “If that’s the reason you’re here, I’m more than game.”

She studied him for a moment, then snorted. “Thought you wanted to kill me.”

“Might still at that. Thought that was the kinda kink that girls like you got off on.”

“Guess it must be, ’cause now I kinda hope you do.” She winked. “Makin’ grown-ass men piss themselves is a hobby of mine.”

Crowley released a small sigh, dropping his head into his hands. “This was not what I had in mind.” He waited for a beat, then favored Faith with a disappointed frown. “If you’re just going to be another Squirrel, I have one of those. This one hasn’t realized his full potential. Or _our_ full potential, as it were.”

“I just said I’m layin’ low for a reason,” Faith retorted.

“Yes, and as the King of Hell, there are arrangements I can make to eliminate those obstacles holding you back.” He waved at Dean. “Our future is Hell—restructuring it, rebuilding it, fashioning it into something unlike anything that has come before. The _perfect_ Hell, in other words.”

Dean rolled his eyes. _Here we go._

“Aww. Where are you boys registered? I see a cute _His and His_ towel set with your name all over it.”

“We could use someone like you up here,” Crowley continued, ignoring her. “Someone who can keep others in line when they are on assignment or—better yet—inside this new bustling slayer-filled world of ours.”

“So you heard me say I’m ducking out of all that shit and decided to offer to throw me back into it.” Faith snickered again. “You don’t listen so good, do you?”

“I said I can make arrangements, particularly as it pertains to your criminal record. There’s a law firm in Los Angeles—”

“Wolfram and Hart,” she volunteered. “Yeah, I’m familiar. And I don’t think they’d be a fan. They hired me to kill a friend and I ended up turning myself in instead.”

“You’ll find that they are most amendable when it comes to keeping certain clients happy.” Crowley leaned forward and polished off his drink. “This isn’t an offer I would make to just anyone. Richie was fond of you, and flawed though he was, I was fond of Richie. Slayers in this world are a dime a dozen now and finding one whose allegiance is for sale would be, I expect, rather simple. But you have a reputation and a track record, not to mention the experience to make both of those things mean something. If you’re interested in having a serious conversation about where I could take you, you know where to find me.”

And that was it. Crowley edged his chair back, rose to his feet, and walked away without another word.

“Guessin’ one of us pissed in his Cheerios,” Faith muttered, following his retreat with her eyes. After a beat, she sighed and settled back, meeting his gaze again. “So are we gonna do this or what?”

No sense playing dumb, since he’d just been wondering the same thing. “Fight or fuck?”

“Ain’t no sense in choosing. I can do both at the same time.”

Yeah, of that he had no doubt. Dean sniggered, working his fingers up and down the slender neck of the beer bottle he’d drained. He wasn’t too surprised when his mind turned to Anne Marie and what she’d say, mainly because it was only polite to consider a sure thing when thinking about possibly blowing it up. Anne Marie was all sweetness—a bit naïve and already prone to looking at him in ways that he knew wouldn’t end well for her. Walking out of here with Faith, whether to fuck or fight, would probably earn him a lifetime ban from the blonde’s bed…and that was all right with him insofar as losing easy-access pussy, but if Faith blew out of town as soon as he blew his top, then he’d be hurting to find someone to take Anne Marie’s place. Some guys liked the chase but he wasn’t _some guy_ anymore and all he really cared about was having everything he wanted within reach.

But there were other bars. Plenty of them. No need to keep the party grounded.

“Where do you wanna do this?” he asked. “Gotta room?”

“Not exactly the Four Seasons, but it has a bed and cable and a wicked continental breakfast.”

“And a place to kill you after if I decide you’re the kinda thing that needs to be ganked.”

Faith grinned, and hell, the absolute lack of fear in her eyes was a turn on. This bitch really wasn’t afraid of him. She was either just as good as she and Crowley thought she was or in for one bastard of a surprise. Either way, his dick was entirely on board.

“If you have enough strength left to cash the checks that mouth of yours has been writing, we’ll find a place where I can kick your ass.”

And hell, he couldn’t help but grin, either. Fuck if he didn’t kinda like this girl. “Good with me. You?”

She rose to her feet, all feline grace. “Five by five. Let’s motor.”


	5. Chapter 5

Yeah, there was a reason Buffy fucked demons.

It took effort, but Faith managed to keep her arms from trembling so hard she lost balance. At this point, it was a pride thing. She did not want to be the first to tap out.

But hot damn, she wasn’t used to being ridden like this, and it was heady as fuck.

Dean was still behind her, gulping for air, his fingers digging into her hips and his cock still semi-hard inside her. If he started moving again, she’d go with it, but at some point, she was going to need to crash.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said at last, and she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he pulled out of her, “but I think I might keep you around.”

Faith snorted, not bothering to look up. She honestly didn’t know if she had the strength at the moment. “What’s the wrong way?”

“That keepin’ you around means I give a shit.” He barked a laugh and crashed beside her, holding himself up on his elbows. “’Cause I don’t.”

She huffed, though it didn’t have the bite she would have liked. “Same goes.”

For the first time since she’d been Called, Faith was a bit sore in the groin region. It was a weird feeling—one she’d forgotten. Weird but also kinda nice. She’d never been with a guy who could keep up with her between the sheets, never mind someone who could make her tremble for real.

Not to say she hadn’t given as good as she’d gotten. She had, and then some. The look on his face when she’d slammed his hands to the mattress and started contracting those slayer muscles around his cock was one she figured would be with her forever. He’d bucked and groaned, demanded to know what the hell she was doing to him and if she’d do it again. And being that she’d never been with a guy who could take her at full strength, Faith had been all too happy to oblige.

“So,” she said after a moment, “just to be clear, we’re not gonna take this outside and try to kill each other?”

He didn’t reply immediately, rather kept himself braced on his elbows, panting. And yeah, that was heady, too. From what she’d learned about that beauty mark on his arm, the guy had strength beyond strength and the stamina to match. So not only had he worn her out, but she’d returned the favor. Turning a guy into a breathless wreck wasn’t new territory for her, but wondering if she’d be the one to beg for a break definitely was.

“Pretty sure we just got done fighting,” he replied at length, then turned and favored her with a wink. “Wanna make up?”

Well, hell, maybe she _would_ be the first to cry uncle. Faith barked a laugh, rising on her knees to stretch her arms above her head. She didn’t miss the way Dean’s gaze lingered on her breasts, which were pleasantly tender and sporting a number of love bites. “Was just thinkin’ there’s a reason good ole Buff always preferred a vamp between her legs,” she said before crawling over to him. “Normal guys have a hard time gettin’ us to hit the high notes.”

The smile that spread across his face was all smug male satisfaction. “You’re welcome.”

“You really think you can get it up again?” She pushed him onto his back, dragged a hand down his chest. “’Cause I can ride you until you’re cross-eyed.”

“Gotta say I am enjoyin’ this particular perk,” Dean said, seizing her by the hips and dragging her over him until she was straddling him, and yeah, his cock was rallying like a champ. “I’ll be a good sport and give you a head’s up—Crowley was already bitchin’ about me spending too much time in bed. This keeps up and he ain’t gonna be your number one fan anymore.”

“Is it going to keep _up_?” Faith pinched the head of his cock and grinned when he gasped. “Take that however you will.”

“I’ll keep up as long as you do.” He leveraged his hold on her to lift her where he wanted. “Can you keep up?”

She smirked, seized his wrists and slammed them to the mattress on either side of his head. “I can take whatever you throw at me,” she said, hoping like hell she was right because as she rubbed herself along the head of his cock and her body realized what was about to happen, some of those muscles she liked to brag about so much gave a twinge of complaint. Still, when she sank down onto him and began to ride, she knew she’d have no problem peaking again.

If nothing else, she’d found an excellent way to keep the guy distracted.

* * * * *

Thank fuck, Dean also liked to eat. And not just pussy, which had been a surprising but very pleasant discovery. She’d kinda figured the whole _demon_ thing might make him especially selfish, but then there were some guys that got off on getting a woman off and Dean was apparently such a creature. Lucky her, because trying to fuck him within an inch of his life was plain exhausting, and she deserved some rewards for her efforts.

After a few more dynamic rounds on the bed, against the wall, and one memorable trip to the bathroom, Dean grumbled about having not shoved anything down his pie-hole in a few hours and that he needed to fuel up. And that was it. He’d pulled on his pants, stuffed his feet into some shoes, then strolled out of her room without a backward look. No goodbye kiss, no _see you later_ , no nothing. Brusque and to the point the way Faith liked it. At least, the way she thought she liked it. She decided it’d be better to not prod at the thing that felt like disappointment, sure it was an anomaly brought on by too little food, too much fucking, and practically no sleep in something like twelve hours.

She dragged herself to the shower to wash off everything, a bit surprised to discover her legs were still somewhat wobbly. When she returned to the main room and found it still stunk to high heaven of sex, the urge hit to hit the road and grab some food—escape the confines of these four walls for a little while at least, and maybe take a tour of the local cemetery to see if anything was rising tonight. That thought took her as far as mentally putting on pants before she decided she’d done her slayer job for the day, twisted as it might have been. Fucking demons wasn’t a part of the job description, but handling him had definitely worn her out.

Better to put in an order for pizza then bite the bullet and call the home team.

After the pie was on the way, she braced herself and pulled up Giles’s contact info.

“Buffy?” Giles demanded in lieu of answering.

Faith slammed her head against the wall at her back. “Sorry to keep disappointin’, but no. Everything good there, G?”

There was a pause. A long one. Then a word. One. “Faith.”

“Uhh, yeah. Don’t sound too thrilled or nothin’. Wouldn’t want me to get the idea you gave a shit.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little…thrown off. It appears something happened in Los Angeles that no one was anticipating.”

Uh oh. That sounded like trouble. “What kinda somethin’? She okay? Angel?”

“Both fine. Well, Buffy a bit more so than Angel, I daresay.” He released a long breath. “Spike is once more corporeal.”

Faith relaxed and felt somewhat bad that she hadn’t immediately thought to ask about Spike, who was, after all, the reason B had taken off to LA in the first place. “Guess I’m not seein’ the fire, then. Ain’t that the best-case scenario?”

“Yes, well…he’s corporeal but also, ahh, human.”

Faith’s eyes went wide. “No shit?”

“Apparently, there was a prophecy. A prophecy involving the vampire with a soul who saved the world and becoming human.” Another long sigh sounded through the line. “In truth, Faith, I couldn’t be happier to be as far from Los Angeles as possible right now. Willow has left to assist someone called Fred in running some tests on Spike and Angel is, well…”

Yeah, she could just picture what Angel _was_. _Pissed the fuck off_ being at the top of the list.

“Should I high-tail it?” she heard herself ask. “If I leave now, I can be there in a couple of days. Sooner if I don’t stop to catch winks.”

“No,” Giles said shortly. “No, it is essential we reestablish the Watchers Council, and the resources inside that bunker might be the foundation for what comes next. And the more I hear about these Winchesters, the more I am convinced they are the sort of allies we need. So, please, have you learned something about Dean that we can relay to his brother?”

Well, he knew how to fuck and he knew how to make it hurt in all the right ways, but she doubted that was the kind of intel Giles was looking for.

“Ever hear of the Mark of Cain?”

There was a long pause. “Well, yes, of course. The Mark of Cain—or the curse of Cain—was divine protection bestowed upon the surviving son of Adam and Eve. If anyone attempted to bring harm to Cain, they would suffer sevenfold whatever damage they wished to inflict. It’s a bible story, Faith. What does it have—”

“Dean has a spot on his arm he and this demon he’s been chilling with call the Mark of Cain,” she said. “I didn’t get the full story, but the short version is, it’s _that_ Mark of Cain.”

“I… How is that even possible?”

“I dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t wanna appear too interested. Crowley’s been dancin’ around me for a few days now and—”

“Crowley?” Giles echoed, his voice hitting a shrill that did little for Faith’s confidence. “Crowley—King of the Crossroads, Crowley?”

“Uhh, maybe? British demon type who has a major boner for Dean. Oh, and apparently knew Wilkins.”

“He would have, being the demon that Wilkins made his bargain with,” Giles muttered. “And here I thought today’s news couldn’t get any worse.”

And she wasn’t even through talking. “He made me, G. Fuck, I made myself. Whatever Dean’s got on his arm keeps him juiced. He was about to bust a hole through the floor with some guy’s head and I mighta let it slip just how strong I am.”

Another pause, this one chased by a groan. “Tell me.”

“Well, I learned Crowley knows about me, too. Not the most recent history, but enough to have him creaming his pants about recruiting me to be his hired muscle.”

“You told him who you are.”

“It was that, light out, or let one of those fuckers kill me. You sayin’ I made the wrong call?”

“Of course not,” Giles replied, though he sounded anything but happy. “Crowley is not to be trusted. I haven’t had the pleasure, but I have heard stories and none of them are good. He likes collecting souls and will do whatever he can to further his own power, such as ally himself with people like Richard Wilkins.”

Faith worked her throat, which had grown tight the way it was prone to do whenever someone mentioned the late Mayor. While she thought of him every day in some way or another, she hadn’t devoted this much mental real estate to him since the last bout in Sunnydale, when the First, wearing Wilkins’s face, had tried to appeal to a side of her she figured she’d be outrunning for the rest of her life. And try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to hate the things she remembered about him, either. No matter what had happened or how things had changed, nothing would erase the fact that he’d been the first person in her world to want _Faith_ , not Buffy, and that still meant something to her.

“No worries,” she heard herself say as though from a distance. “I ain’t about to make the guy a friendship bracelet. But he did get awfully blabby the second he knew who I was, so it didn’t seem like a bad idea to use that.”

“No,” Giles agreed softly. “Not a bad idea at all. Tell me more about the Mark.”

Faith furrowed her brow, fighting back through the mountain of information that had hit her over the past day. “Uhh, yeah. You said the Mark was protection?”

“According to biblical lore, yes, but this was all under the supposition that it was nothing but a story, rather like…well, Cinderella’s glass slipper or the apple that killed Snow White.”

“You’re comparing the actual bible to fairy tales.”

“Considering I’ve met actual gods, I think I am on rather solid ground here,” Giles replied dryly. “But do go on.”

“Well, if what your demon boy was sayin’ was true, the Mark has a hell of a way of protectin’ the wearer.” And considering the ache between her legs, it seemed fair to assume that Crowley had been shooting straight on that front. “According to Crowley, the thing made Dean a demon.”

“A…demon.”

“Yeah. But G, from where I’m sittin’, it ain’t the evil variety. Least not like the sons of bitches back home. Evilest thing he did to me was with his tongue.” A sputtering, hacking sound came through the speaker, and despite herself, she grinned. “You still with me there, Papa Smurf?”

“I will not question your methods,” he said. “I trust you know what you are doing. But a demon, Faith? If this is true, it changes everything.”

“How’s that?”

“I rather doubt Sam Winchester will be pleased to hear that his brother has taken a demonic turn.”

“Well, maybe not, but what does that have to do with our situation?” Faith paused a second to allow the question to sink in, then hurried on before he could start talking again. “If he thinks his brother’s gone-gone, he might be open to listenin’ to your sales pitch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, we still need to make nice with the kid bro, right? He don’t know where big bro is or what happened. And yeah, maybe he shoots the messenger and I ain’t lookin’ to add another hole anywhere. But if this guy’s as good as his rep, maybe he gets that it’s easier to deal with this kinda shit when he’s not flyin’ solo.” Faith sighed, stretched out a leg until she heard something pop, then switched. “At least show him what a slayer can do. This motherfucker is super-strong and has a nasty temper, but give me the right tools and I can bring him in.”

“Shooting the messenger is the least of my worries. What if he perceives our interference as the thing that caused Dean’s transformation?”

“What sort of backwards bullshit logic is that?”

“It’s not _logic_. But I have been around long enough to understand that people do not always respond logically when they receive news of this nature. Making the wrong move now might cost us an alliance down the line.”

“Or it’ll show this guy just how valuable we are. His brother’s a demon and now he’s fair hunting game. Hell, G, it ain’t like no one we know’s never been in that situation. I busted my ass outta jail because Wes told me they’d gone and brought out Angel’s homicidal side, and that’s not even the first time. We got our own little sob story with B, who had to send loverboy to Hell that one time…and then whatever she’s doing with Blondie these days.” Faith released a long breath. “From what you’ve told me, we know jack about this Sam guy, so maybe finding out that there’s a whole legion of super-powered babes ready to give him all kinds of understanding will be what convinces him to open his doors.”

There was nothing for a moment but silence.

Then, softly, “What do you propose?”

Faith relaxed, her shoulders dropping. Now, at least, they were getting somewhere. “I know Will’s taken off to deal with suddenly human Spike, but is there a way she can work some mojo on a pair of cuffs or somethin’? I need a way to tie him up that won’t bust open easily. Maybe some bindings for his legs, too, keep him from kicking me or some shit. Once I have him, I should be able to handle it, but this bitch is strong and I’ll need all the magical help I can get.”

“With Willow at Wolfram and Hart, I imagine anything is possible,” Giles muttered. “I believe that can be arranged. And after you have him subdued?”

“Haul ass to Kansas, I guess. You know where this Sam lives?”

“You plan to just walk up to the front door with his brother over your shoulder?”

“It’ll get him to talk to me, won’t it?”

“Well…yes, I suppose. And if he proves hostile, himself?”

“Not worried about that. I’ll have literally handed him his big brother. What’s he gonna do? Say _thank you_ with a punch? If he tries, I’ll lay him out. At least we’ll know where we stand.”

Another beat filled with nothing.

“Come on, Giles. Either I act now and get Dean while the getting’s good, or the fucker catches wise that I ain’t nearly as bad as I used to be and we got to start from scratch. I can keep him entertained for a bit but not forever.”

“I… Well, yes, of course, you’re right.” Another sigh sounded through the line. “I just don’t like it. I’d prefer it if Buffy were available to back you up.”

“That’s what I’d call a bad idea. Crowley knows B by rep. Ain’t a fan. We add more slayers to the mix here, and the gig will be up in a hurry. Better that we’re flyin’ solo.”

“You realize this does nothing to make me feel better.”

“Don’t sweat it. This ain’t the hardest job I’ve worked by a mile. Just get me what I need and I’ll deliver.”

There was a short chuckle. “Believe me, Faith, it was never a matter of you being unable to deliver. It might surprise you to realize that we actually care about what happens to you. I do not want you hurt.”

That did surprise her, but she wasn’t about to admit it. File that under things to consider another day—preferably one where she hadn’t just spent the past however-many hours pretending to be a version of herself that she’d left in an LA prison cell. “Aww,” she drawled, “I love you too. Call me when you get the goods.”

“I will. And Faith, be care—”

“Five-by-five.” She ended the call then, a small shudder rolling through her and making her painfully aware of just how badly she needed a shower.

She doubted she’d unclench until she had Dean bound and gagged and in her trunk. And even then, there was the drive to consider. Way too much opportunity for something to go wrong, and that was assuming the steps she’d need to take after she had her magical toys went off without a hitch.

And she couldn’t deny she was excited to see Dean again, though she knew that could mean nothing good.


	6. Chapter 6

Faith hadn’t had much interaction with Wolfram and Hart beyond the contract she’d volunteered to take on a few years back to bring an end to a certain souled vampire, but that had been enough to give her the sort of idea of the kind of law firm they really were. Which was why she, among others, had been shocked as all get-out upon learning that Angel had accepted a position there. True, she figured there had to be a good reason, altruistic if not a little insane, which fit the picture she had of Angel. Though personally, Faith felt the Wolfram and Hart connection alone went a long way in explaining why the trinket Angel had given Buffy had reacted the way it had—something she’d be sure to tell her fangy friend the next time they were in the same room.

Still, she couldn’t deny that being connected to the big bad law firm had its perks. Perks like learning there was a package waiting for her at the front desk. A package containing a set of handcuffs, rope, zipper ties—essentially everything a girl could need to hogtie a demon. Which was exactly what Faith intended to do.

She just needed to convince Dean to come back to her room for more sex—something she didn’t think would be too hard, but she knew better than to get overconfident. Arrogance was one of those things that had left a lasting impression. Yes, she was reasonably certain she was stronger than Dean, but not one hundred percent certain. Whatever the Mark of Cain powered him with was unlike anything she’d encountered before, and if it truly was a biblical thing, it might trump her in the power department.

Back in her room, Faith surfed through her goody box in earnest—beyond the toys and weapons—and found a Styrofoam container neatly packed at the bottom. Affixed to this was a folded piece of paper, her name scrawled along the back.

_Faith,_

_Here’s your handy-dandy How to Wrangle a Demon kit, courtesy of Angel and his Wolfram and Hart resources which, yes, of the wiggy, but it was the quickest way I could get this stuff to you without sacrificing a goat. Or maybe they did sacrifice a goat. I’ve learned not to ask questions unless I really want an answer._

_Speaking of, I’ve touched base with Giles in case_ you _have any questions, as I might be a bit tricky to pin down. We’re running from lab to lab over here, which would be fine if the place weren’t a maze. And there’s enough magical interference that my simple location spells go a bit hinky._

_There are three pairs of cuffs, all bewitched so that only the person who locks them can unlock them. The rope will act the same way—only the person who ties the knot can untie the knot. Same with the zip-ties. Fred and I spent a few hours coming up with an assortment of potions that we think are strong enough to knock out a demon and tested them on a few demons here of varying strengths just to be safe. One small dose knocked Lorne out for three hours. Find those at the bottom. You might be careful with them, though. A few drops should do it—more than that and he might go into a coma._

_Wish we could be of more help. Buffy sends her thanks. I think Spike would, too, but he’s getting tired of being poked. Which I understand, but…vampire became human! Cool, huh?_

_Good luck!_

  * _Willow_



Faith read the note twice, then took a deep breath and set about packing up her things. There really wasn’t a need to be nervous—she’d done more dangerous shit than this just for kicks—but for whatever reason, the thought of getting all up and personal again with Dean had her feeling all kinds of jittery. Maybe because this was the first real job anyone had ever really trusted her with and there were about a thousand ways she could fuck it up. And as nice as it’d be to pretend she wasn’t invested in what happened with the Scooby Gang and their new lineup of slayerettes, truth was she’d gotten used to being a part of the group. It was nice, being relied on. Nicer still knowing she was doing what she could to make up for the wreckage that spanned the road behind her.

The car Giles had set her up with wasn’t anything flashy, but it had a nice, wide trunk just aching to be stuffed with six feet one inches of hunky demon flesh, once she emptied it of all the toys she’d brought along for the ride. Easy enough to reallocate her ax—she had Scythe envy—her favorite hunting blade, and a duffle-bag full of stakes to the back seat. Then she set about painting a pretty little devil design along the trunk lid. According to Giles, the sigil would prevent the demon from moving around too much. Nifty little trick, that. Would have been nice to have known a few years back, but she decided not to bitch too much. And it sounded like this might have been news to Giles, anyway. Brave new world that it was.

As for wrangling the demon in question, it seemed the better play not to be obvious. So rather than stalk over to the Black Spur, pull up some stool, and make eyes at Dean, she figured she’d just kick back and take in the free cable until the boy came a knocking. Which he would eventually, unless he’d decided to light out of town after packing down the calories last night. But she didn’t think so. Dean didn’t strike her as the type who spooked easy, with or without a demon riding his insides. He had a nice little set-up here—place to crash, plenty to drink, girls to fuck, junk to eat. That didn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d just concede to someone else.

Faith spent the morning flicking through channels, polishing off the rest of the pizza she’d had delivered the previous night, and mentally mapping the steps she’d take once Dean showed up. After packing up everything, she’d decided to get herself nice and comfy, and stripped to her panties and a strappy camisole. It wasn’t the way she’d ideally confront a demon, but she figured nothing would put him at ease faster than seeing she was in her underwear. And in this, the smart move was likely to let him set the stage. If he wanted to fuck, she had everything she needed stuffed in the crappy nightstand by her side of the bed. If he wanted to fight, well, she’d naked wrestled an alligator that one time, so a demon couldn’t be too different. In a perfect world, he’d bring a beer or something she could slip some of Will’s potion in, but she wouldn’t bank on anything. Predicting his moves was one thing, but banking on them could fast get her neck snapped, and she was kind of attached to where it was.

It was past noon by the time the knock came. Faith jolted a bit at the sound, her heart skipping in a way she couldn’t help but find annoying. She counted to ten, not wanting to appear eager or like she’d been expecting anyone, then edged off the mattress and made her way to the door.

“Hey!” Dean bellowed from the other side, pounding again. “You alive in there?”

Faith stopped when she reached the doorknob, straightened her shoulders, used her acting chops to pull out the smirk that had gotten the best reaction out of him the night before. “Aww, honey,” she drawled, throwing the door open and resting her arm against the frame. “Were you worried?”

Dean prowled inside without awaiting an invitation. “Didn’t see you this mornin’,” he said as he glanced around the room. “You pack up?”

“Figured I oughta head out of town soon,” Faith replied, shutting the door behind her. Closing herself in this room with its very breakable furniture and the demon that wouldn’t hesitate to do the breaking. “No offense, but I ain’t lookin’ to join the dream team.”

He met her eyes, his brows raised. “Dream team?”

“Your buddy Crowley thinks he can put me to work. Ain’t really my scene.”

“Uh huh. And what is your scene?”

“Right now, I’m just enjoyin’ riding free. I don’t doubt that your friend could keep me off a certain slayer’s radar, but I’m not lookin’ to owe anyone jack shit from here until I croak.”

A smile tugged at Dean’s lips. “Crowley’s been on me to be his date to the prom ever since I woke up black-eyed,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna play.”

“Don’t think he’s gotten the memo.”

“Well, that’s his problem, not mine.” He eyed her up and down with a look she had become intimately familiar with. “You stick around to say goodbye, then? Wouldn’t say no to one for the road.”

Faith flicked her eyebrows upward. “Just one? Did I wear you out that well last night?”

“I’ll take what I can get. Did manage to piss off my little sure thing by headin’ out with you, so I might as well stock up.”

She smirked and sauntered forward, putting as much swing in her step as possible. “Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.” He grabbed her by the hips and jerked her the rest of the way so that she crashed against his chest. “Know, might just be time for me to blow on out of North Dakota, anyway. Seems there’s this big bad world of shit I didn’t know existed. Slayers, for one. Think you can score me Buffy’s autograph?”

“Aww, is baby star struck?”

“Well, imagine finding out freakin’ Dracula was real.” He paused, frowned. “He ain’t, is he?”

“Not anymore, according to B.”

“Freakin’ Buffy took out Drac? Damn, woman, leave something for the rest of us.” But Dean looked far from displeased. Whatever he’d done between leaving her bed and showing back up again, he’d decided to find the news that vampire slayers existed as a good thing. Could well just be because he’d discovered the highs of fucking one, and if that was the case, well, _you’re welcome, world_.

“Yeah, that’s B all over.”

“Gotta say, the more you talk, the more this Buffy sounds like the kinda bitch I’d like to meet,” Dean said. “You say you aren’t pen-pals anymore, but you could set somethin’ up, couldn’t you?”

“I’d tell you that you ain’t her type, but I’m pretty sure you’re exactly her type. Bitch likes to play it high and mighty but what she really likes is some monster between her legs.”

This seemed to genuinely please him. “You think I gotta shot, then?”

It had nothing to do with Dean and everything to do with the endless parade of people who, no matter what, would always prefer Buffy over her. Not that Faith hadn’t given the world ample reason why that was, but damn if it didn’t smart. Still, B was halfway across the country chilling with not one, but two of her exes, leaving Faith to do the grunt work.

“I dunno, Demon Boy. She tends to like her men a bit more fangy.”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer bangs vamps?”

She snorted. “Almost exclusively.” And at that, she let herself wonder how B was taking the news that the honey she’d been mourning these past couple of weeks was now something other than room temperature, as she really did seem to have a monster complex. Could be that Blondie had been resurrected just to find out he was a whole lot less interesting.

If that was the case, she could almost feel bad for the guy. Whatever else, he did have it bad for Buffy.

Which seemed to be a recurring theme in Faith’s life.

“Well…” Dean slid his hands around to grip her ass, pulling her close enough to feel his growing erection. “She sounds like kind of a buzz kill anyway. Not sayin’ I wouldn’t like to say I’d been there and done that, but I gotta feeling you’re more fun in the sack.”

“I’m more fun at everything,” Faith replied, and leaned forward to nip at his lips, though why she bothered was anyone’s guess. When it came to casual hookups, especially ones like this, Faith maintained Julia Roberts rules. No games of tonsil hockey—nothing that could be misconstrued as actual intimacy. Yet here she was, enjoying what could only be called a kiss from pretty much the worst guy on the planet to put her mouth on.

Dammit, she was usually more together than this when it came to sex. Maybe that brief stint with Robin had screwed with her head. After all, he had been the only guy she’d intentionally hit all the bases with more than once. There had been casual arrangements pre-Sunnydale, but nothing that could be mistaken for an actual relationship even if you squinted. Being with Robin, trying for something real, had thrown her off her game and she wasn’t sure if she could easily navigate her way back. Which was the only explanation as to why she felt so off-kilter with a guy who was supposed to be her mark, nothing more.

Maybe once she got on the road, her head would clear a bit. God, she hoped so.

“So whattya say?” Dean asked when they broke apart, hands immediately tugging at her top. She raised her arms and let him drag the material over her head. The second her breasts were free, he dipped his head to pay them special attention. It was damned unfair that the man knew just what to do with his mouth—Robin had been like that, too. Not too aggressive but not a pansy, either. And he knew how to read her body, which cues to take when she wanted him to up the ante and become a bit more forceful. Perhaps introduce teeth into the play, show he knew how to make it hurt in all the right ways.

“To what?” she asked, shoving him back against the mattress. He bounced a little and grinned, turning his hands now to the fly of his jeans.

“Blowing this popsicle stand.” He drew down the zipped and wiggled his hips a bit as he pulled out his cock.

“Is that a name you gave your dick?” Faith asked, arching an eyebrow and inching her panties down her legs. “’Cause I don’t give head without good reason.”

“Pretty sure I gave you all kinds of reasons last night,” Dean replied, dragging his hand from the base to the tip. “Can give you more if you like.”

Just remembering the sensation of his tongue curling around her clit had her squeezing her thighs together. Faith hid a shiver with a smirk and threw a leg over his hips. “When you’re right, you’re right,” she said, trying and failing to bite back a moan as she rubbed herself along his length. “You do know how to use that mouth of yours.”

“Know how to do a bit more than that.” He shifted his cock so that he was right at her opening, then pulled his hand back and nudged her clit. “My hands don’t get nearly enough praise.”

“Poor wittle demon.”

“Ain’t nothin’ little about me, baby.” A point he drove home by seizing her by the hips and pulling her down onto him. And yeah, he felt just as incredible as he had the night before—hard and hot and eight kinds of wild. She was sore enough that it took a moment to convince her body that she wanted this—her body and her mind in equal measure—before remembering she had a reputation to uphold and started rolling her hips.

“Do all slayers feel like this or is it just a _you_ thing?” Dean asked, throwing his head back, then straightening again, focusing on where they were joined. Most guys appreciated the visual, but Dean seemed to crave it. “’Cause this cunt of yours is a work of fucking art.”

She didn’t have to feign her smirk, steadying her hands on his chest. “If I had a nickel…”

“Oh yeah?” He flashed his gaze back up to her. “Wondered where you got so good at this.”

“I heard practicin’ was the only way to get to Carnegie Hall.”

He barked a laugh at that and bucked. “I’d buy tickets to that show.”

“Oh?”

“Nah, I’d sneak in and find my way backstage.” He reached around her hips and fingered the pucker of her ass. “Take that any way you want, baby. Just do it while fucking my brains out.”

Faith seized his wrists and slammed them to the mattress, leaning forward he shifted inside of her. “Keep your hands right there,” she said. “Wanna see what you can do just with this dick.”

Something in his eyes flashed. “That a challenge?”

“Most guys can’t get a woman off with cock alone. Are you an exception?”

“You doubt it?”

“Yeah, I do.” She clenched her muscles around him, unable to keep from grinning when he fed her a moan in return. “So be a good boy and prove me wrong.”

It was kinda cute, the way his eyes sparkled when he was issued an actual challenge. Almost enough to make a girl forget he was a demon. And really, aside from his temper and his general don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, Dean didn’t seem overly demonic. If the beans hadn’t been spilled already—and if he hadn’t brought out the black eyes—it was possible she might never have clued into the full truth. After all, it wasn’t like men needed demon inside them to be assholes.

For a few rather pleasant seconds, Dean did exactly as she’d expected, bucking and rolling and doing whatever he could with his hips to answer her dare. And for those seconds, Faith let herself enjoy the ride, knowing this was likely to be the last, and more’s the pity. But then he grasped her hips again—just her hips—and she forced herself out of the pleasant sex-filled haze and back to the job.

“Tut-tut,” she said, seizing his wrists. “Told you where I wanted these. Ain’t gonna win by cheating.”

“Your skin really that sensitive, baby? We could have fun with that.”

“We’re having fun now.” She leaned forward so her nipples grazed his chest before she pinned both wrists above his head again. “Got ways of makin’ sure you stay right where you are,” she said, then reached over with her free hand to drag the handcuffs out of the nightstand drawer. “Boys who don’t do what they’re told get punished.”

Dean took one look at the cuffs and gave a short, cocky snicker. “You think those can hold me, you’re in for one hell of a wakeup call, darlin’.” He didn’t so much as flinch when she closed the cuffs around his wrists, just smirked up at her, still rolling his hips. “But I can play the willing prisoner if that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” she agreed, her voice breathier than she would have liked. Then she pulled back and steadied herself against his chest. The plan had been to get the cuffs on him then knock him out, but her body had other ideas, and what the hell, she’d call this her finder’s fee. Faith threw her head back, squeezed her eyes shut, and began riding him at a slow gallop. Well, it started off a slow gallop, but she wasn’t much for _slow_. Neither was Dean, for the way he growled and thrust up into her, the jabs he made with his dick coming harder now as his patience thinned.

Another reason to make this quick—if he tried to break the cuffs and discovered he couldn’t…

Dammit. Faith swore under her breath and slipped her own fingers over her clit.

“Hey now, that’s cheating,” Dean said, bringing his hands down.

“Got impatient.” She bounced harder, faster, white-hot pinpricks beginning to dance along her skin. “And…I never said _I_ …couldn’t touch.”

“What…where did you get…”

Faith peeked an eye open and saw Dean staring at his wrists with newfound confusion. _Shit._ She planted her free hand on his chest and began working her slayer muscles around his cock, banking on it driving him to distraction as it had the previous night. And boy, she wasn’t disappointed. Dean’s eyes rolled up inside his head and he rumbled a low sound that could have been a growl or a moan, but when he looked at her again there was new suspicion there.

“Don’t know what you think you’re playin’ at, but this is me warning you it won’t end well.”

“You sure? ’Cause I like my odds.”

“You fuck with me and—”

“Bit late for threats, ain’t it? I am fucking you.”

“Enjoy it, baby,” he snarled, “’cause this is one game you’re gonna lose.”

“Try me,” she panted, then threw her head back as her pussy began spasming around him. She felt him buck hard, felt him attempting to leverage his weight to flip her under him, but she was ready for it. She was also ready for the way he pulsed and spilled into her, because that meant it was over and any sexual control she had over Dean would have gone with it.

So Faith didn’t waste any time, rather sprang into action the next moment. Most demons wouldn’t be winded even after being ridden like that, and Dean was no exception. The lusty look had left his eyes entirely, and now he was leaping at her, all twisted fury.

“Not smart, bitch,” he said, straining again against the cuffs to no avail. _Thank you, Red._ “Just not fucking smart.”

His eyes went all black and he charged at her, arms outstretched. What he planned to do, she couldn’t say, and she didn’t give him a chance to show her. Faith dropped to the ground and swept his legs out from under him, then bounced back to her feet in time to smash her foot against his brow and send him sprawling onto his back. The kick likely would have broken a human boy’s neck, but Dean just howled and rolled over to fight his way upright again.

She had seconds, if that.

Faith bounded across the motel room to the nightstand. There wasn’t any good way to measure out the dosage she’d need, so she’d just have to hope shoving the whole damn potion down his throat wouldn’t kill him.

“You fucked me to get close, is that it?” Dean said, his voice gravelly. “Word for people like that, sugar.”

“Word for people who fall for it, too,” Faith snapped back. She tore the cap off one of the vials—she didn’t know which—with her teeth and spat it out, not taking her eyes off the demon stumbling drunkenly toward her. “Now open wide.”

Dean gave another roar, this one unmistakably demonic, and it sent shivers across her skin. She didn’t give herself time—she leaped, tackling him to the ground and upending the vial into his mouth. He screamed again, bucking like mad, but it was too late. And he saw it, realized it before he lost consciousness.

The look on his face promised murder.

Then all of him went slack, and it was over.

Faith sat there for a moment, dragging in oxygen like it was going out of style. Sweat stung her eyes and coated her skin, which was suddenly cool against the still air. She waited for a beat, then another, and relaxed when she saw Dean’s chest was still moving. So she hadn’t killed him—not yet, anyway.

And as much as she’d like to believe the hard part was over, she had a feeling she’d be treading uphill for a while before the land evened out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a point of reference, this fic takes place a couple of weeks prior to _Black_. Sam's arm isn't in a sling and Castiel is still suffering from grace-withdrawal.
> 
> Thank you to Elizabeth and Rachel for looking this over!

Just a little over eleven hours of road stretched between Beulah, North Dakota and Lebanon, Kansas. If she was lucky, the shit she’d shoved down Dean’s gullet would keep him sawing logs until she was ready to deliver the payload. But Faith didn’t bank on luck—never seemed to end well for her—so she took no chances. After going through his things—which had consisted of a wallet and a wicked-looking blade carved from bone—she’d hogtied the son of a bitch, courtesy of the care package Willow had sent her, tossed him in the trunk and set off. Faith wanted to put a decent amount of distance between her and Crowley before she phoned to tell Giles that the hard part was done.

It wasn’t until Bismarck was five hours behind her that she felt relaxed enough to drag out her cellphone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, G. Know of anyone who might wanna take a demon off my hands?”

There was a pause, then a long sigh. “You have him, then?”

“He’s currently snoozing in the trunk, but ain’t no guarantee he’ll stay peaceful the rest of the drive.”

“Where are you presently?”

“Somewhere near Burke, South Dakota.”

“Dear lord, and you’re just now calling me?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Save the lecture, Gramps, I made a call to get my ass outta Dodge. Didn’t seem like a good idea to stick around where the goddamn King of Hell might discover I got his best bud trussed up like a goose in my trunk.”

At that, as though waiting for his cue, the aforementioned goose let loose a helluva loud honk, and the car jostled and moaned. And though Faith knew she couldn’t have really expected anything else, she still managed to feel a stab of disappointment.

“Sleeping Beauty musta heard me,” she muttered. “Sounds like the beast’s awake.”

“Are you—”

“I’m good. Got enough magic roofie juice to shove down his throat if he gives me reason. But now seems like it might be a good time to call the brother and tell him what’s going on. What are his digits?”

“Ah, yes, well…perhaps you better let me handle that.”

“Huh? I’m the one delivering the goods, ain’t I?”

“Yes, well, things being as they are, it might be better if we are delicate in how we inform Sam that his brother is indeed a demon and currently en-route to his location.”

Faith rolled her eyes and thunked her head against the headrest, just as Dean roared and made the car jolt again. “G, if he’s our kind of people, he ain’t gonna be delicate. And if he is delicate, he ain’t our people. Let me make the call.”

“Faith—”

“Just give me his number.”

There was a pause, then another sigh, and Giles rattled it off. “Please be sure to emphasize that you—”

She disconnected before he could finish the thought, punched in the number he’d given her, and hit _send_. It rang for what felt like forever, leaving her with nothing but Dean’s increasingly creative threats as he attempted to pound his way to freedom. Not that he was getting far, if Giles was to be believed about the design she’d spray-painted back there, but that wouldn’t stop some nosy cop from taking notice.

Might be better to shove more of that potion down his throat before she hit the gas again.

At last, the line picked up and her ear filled with the sort of voice she could just tell was attached to someone who desperately needed to get laid. He sounded young but burdened—slayer-level burdened, and that shit wasn’t fun for anyone.

“Hello?”

“This Sam Winchester?”

A good, long pause was her immediate answer. Faith yawned, the car rocked, and Dean roared that she was a cunt. She decided she’d add bacon to whatever burger she got. After the day she’d had, she’d more than earned it.

“Who is this?”

“Name’s Faith and right now, I’m your best friend on account that I have your brother. Thought that might be the kinda thing to get your attention.”

Another pause, this one not nearly as long. “You _what_?”

“Your brother. Dean. Ran into him in a bar in North Dakota where he was abusin’ the karaoke machine and hitting on anything with tits. Since I’m a thing with tits, we got on like a house fire. One thing led to another and now he’s hog-tied in my trunk.”

“Look, Faith, did you say your name was? Well, Faith, if you hurt—”

“Oh, uncork. I’m bringing him to you.”

A beat of silence. Then another. “I’m sorry, you’re _what_?”

“I’m on the road headin’ your direction. Lebanon, right? Should be there in a few hours, give or take traffic and whether or not I can convince Beauty to go back to sleep.” Faith brought up her leg, rested her foot against the car-seat and planted her elbow on her knee. “And there are things you should know.”

“Why is my brother in your _trunk_?”

“Well, for starters, I have a strict no-demon policy. Even hog-tied, he could do somethin’ to fuck me over, cause a crash, or some other shit. And that’s the kinda complication this girl’s aimin’ to avoid.”

“What do you mean, _demon_?”

“I mean Big Bro’s a black-eyed baddie with one nasty ass temper and the strength to match. He’s been palling around with some motherfucker called Crowley, who was eager to get yours truly on the payroll.”

Another bout of nothing, though this particular nothing was filled with deep breaths that hurt just to listen to.

“My brother can’t be possessed,” he said at last in a low, dangerous voice. “We both made damn sure of that years ago. So do you want to try again?”

“Ain’t got the impression he’s possessed,” Faith replied. “Just woke up one morning a little less human.”

“That’s—”

“Crowley says it’s thanks to this beauty mark Dean has on his arm. Mark of Cain?”

The line went quiet again. Then, “The Mark of Cain turned my brother into a demon?”

“That’s the story they’re telling,” she agreed. “Won’t lie, Sammy, Crowley was spillin’ his demon guts like a bond villain. Something about how Dean ended up dead but the Mark brought him back, only a little extra amped.”

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

Faith snickered and shook her head. Boy had pretty much just guaranteed she’d call him nothing but. “Yeah, that seems like the kinda thing to focus on. Did I mention your brother’s in my trunk?”

“Who _are_ you and why do you have my brother? How do you even know this number? I don’t give it out to just anyone, and I sure as hell don’t know anyone named Faith.”

“Rupert Giles.”

Another pause. “Sorry?”

“Rupert Giles—British old fart. Said he stopped by your little hideout thinkin’ it might be a good place to start the new Slayer Academy. You two had words and he called me.”

“Rupert Giles…the man who believes in vampire slayers. Like Buffy.”

 _Fuck me._ This was going to be a fun conversation to have on repeat. “That’d be the one, yes. The way he spun it, he thought you might be a bit more open to talk if we found your brother. So that’s what we did. Or I did.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Quite frankly, Sammy, that ain’t my problem.”

“It is definitely your problem if you want something. I don’t know what game you and this Mr. Giles are trying to pull, but vampire slayers don’t exist. This entire notion of super-strong women warriors is just ridiculous.”

Faith made a mental note to knock Sam through a wall or seven for that little remark. “’Cause we need the men to protect us so badly?”

“No—that’s not what I meant. I—wait. Us?”

“Yeah, I’m one of those pesky slayers that don’t exist. No worries, sunshine. Once you see my face you’ll be a believer.”

“Look—”

“Naw, you look. I don’t give two fucks if you think G is nuts. I still got your brother all trussed up and ready to be taken home. So when I show up at this super-secret bunker of yours, will you be there? Or should I plan to knock his ass out and camp it somewhere for the night?”

“Oh, I’ll be there. And if you try anything, I will put you in the ground.”

“Well, sounds like we got ourselves a date.” She paused, then a thought struck. “G mentioned you have a pet angel, is that right? Do me this one solid before I show up and ask him about slayers. I’m kinda tapped out on people tryin’ to kill me.”

“I don’t—”

“Do that and you and big bro will be all five-by-five here in a few hours. I’ll call when I’m closer.” Faith disconnected the call before Sam Winchester could reply and tossed the cell into the passenger seat. From the trunk came another roar and the car rocked on its axis again.

Yeah, that was going to be wicked annoying. Faith sighed, met the eyes of her reflection in the rearview mirror, and decided to go for it. She climbed out of the car and started making her way to the back.

As though sensing her proximity, Dean roared louder, and the car gave another low whine as its weight shifted between tires. Faith let him have his tantrum for a second before popping the back and throwing the trunk lid open.

Dean howled again, this time in pain, as sunlight hit his face. He bared his teeth around the gag she’d fixed to his mouth, struggling in vain against the bonds holding him in place—his wrists cuffed behind his back, his feet bound and knees bent, a length of rope connecting the cuffs to the binds around his ankles. This sorta thing might be fun with the right person. Too bad Robin had never been that adventurous.

“You’re a noisy motherfucker, you know that?” she asked cheerily, cocked her fist and laid one on him hard enough that his head went flying back. Not so hard that it knocked him out. Rather, a renewed growl sounded around the gag and his eyes flashed pure black. She’d like to believe there was nothing in his face of the guy who had fucked her that morning, but she’d decided against lying to herself. Fact was this raw anger had been there from the start and bad girl that she was, it had done shit to her. Shit that had her one part ashamed and one part relieved because even if Faith was riding the redemption express these days, there were parts of her that were all her that she wanted to keep.

She leaned forward, getting close enough that a guy with two working hands and an ungagged mouth might have been able to do some damage. Lucky her that no such guy was around. “Scream your black little heart out, honey. I’m still taking you to see baby brother.”

Dean howled and thrashed about some more, the corded muscles in his arms straining as he pulled against the cuffs, and directing her eyes to the red marks embedded in his skin. Looked like the dumbass had used enough force to bite into his skin—dark, dried blood flecked across his wrists.

“Oh, yeah, the restraints.” She grinned. “Bitch, ain’t they? You can keep pullin’ but you’re just gonna hurt yourself. Friend of mine put the mojo on them so they ain’t gonna snap any time soon.”

At last, Dean went still, his brow shiny with sweat, his eyes normal again but narrowed into a look of such fierce hatred she might have been offended were she the type of girl to take shit like that personally.

“Just thought I’d be nice and tell you the score,” Faith continued, bracing her hands on the trunk lid. “You keep makin’ all that racket, though, and I got some more goodies just achin’ to be takin’ for a test run. Play nice and maybe you’ll get to Kansas in one piece. How about it?”

He couldn’t reply, of course, just kept glaring in a way that told her he was imagining how he’d kill her once he was free.

“Settle in, sugar,” she said, “we got a ways to go.”

She slammed the trunk shut again, fully expecting Dean’s little temper tantrum to begin anew, but it didn’t. Not when she closed the car door, nor when she started the engine, or as she began closing the gap between them and Lebanon.

The rest of the drive, Dean was the proverbial church mouse.

And fuck if that didn’t freak her shit out.

* * * * *

Sam Winchester was a tall motherfucker who immediately reminded her of Angel, except Angel didn’t have the baby-face or the rocking hair. Where Angel’s hair seemed gravity-defiant, Sam’s was magazine-cover worthy. In fact, all of him was. He had an air about him that struck her as Boy Scout Gone Bad, which might have been fun to explore once upon a time, but tagging a pair of brothers was where she drew the line these days.

“You’re Faith,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“I am indeed,” she replied, leaning against the doorway, getting right up in his personal space because, whatever, fuck him. “Got a special delivery in the back. You wanna eyeball the goods before I haul him over my shoulder?”

Sam looked her up and down in a way that was refreshingly not at all sexual. “And that’s something you can do? Just, swing my brother over your shoulder?”

“If you did your homework like a good little boy, you’d know better than to ask stupid questions.”

Sam’s jaw hardened and he worked his throat, reminding her even more of Angel. Not so much in the mannerisms but what they meant—cool restraint when any idiot could see he was screaming behind his eyes. “If you’re talking about Cass, then yeah, I asked him.”

“Cass the pet angel?”

He offered a clipped nod. And though the answer was there in everything he wasn’t saying, Faith couldn’t help but egg him on. Call it a character flaw.

“And Sammy’s big bad world got bigger and badder, just like that?”

He aimed a scowl at her in another pitch-perfect imitation of her vampire bestie. “I told you not to call me that.”

“What, you prefer Jolly Green?” Faith offered a smirk. “So, what’d the angel say?”

Sam tore his gaze from hers, his face contorting like he was struggling with the words. “That to his knowledge, there were two slayers in the world—two, when there should have been one, but something happened and her death didn’t take. One is Buffy Summers.” He said the name much like his brother had—a mixture of incredulity and aggravation. “The other is…”

“Wittle old me?”

“Faith Lehane,” he muttered. “Who, also according to Cass, should be in maximum security serving twenty-five-to-life for a number of crimes, murder included.”

“Yeah, well, turns out the prison life ain’t for me,” she replied. “Decided to commute my sentence to time served.”

“Yeah. Instilling a lot of faith here.”

“Sam, did you just pun my name? We ain’t that close yet.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Big Bro’s been on the quiet side for the last stint. Probably thinkin’ of ways to make a run for it once I get him outta that thing. You got someplace I can toss him? Or is the angel around to lend a wing?”

“Cass is…indisposed right now. I can take it from here.”

Faith shook her head. “Sorry. Boss man told me to stick on him.”

“Look—”

“No, you look. I’ve had what can charitably be called a shit day. I hunted this asshole down to do you a solid, and because I got a lot of ground to cover if I’m ever gonna be a real girl again. Your brother’s a demon and puttin’ demons down just happens to be my thing, but I’m willing to work with you if you’re willing to work with me.” She tilted her head. “Okay?”

There was nothing for a moment except another one of those long, soulful looks she imagined he was famous for. Either that or that wicked hair that was just vying for its own shampoo commercial. At last, he offered a clipped nod. “If he is what you say he is, I can use the help. The Mark of Cain is what did this?”

“According to that British demon who’s in love with him.”

“Crowley.”

“Believe that’s what I just said,” she agreed, and fell into step beside him as they made their way toward her rental. It was only then she noticed that Dean’s recent bout of mutism seemed to have passed, for the car was again rocking on the back wheels and his howls had resumed. She caught Sam’s wince out of the corner of her eye and, despite herself, entertained a stab of pity. Whatever else, couldn’t be easy knowing your brother had gone all dark side. Good fucking thing she didn’t have much in the way of family, herself.

“You gonna be okay there, big guy?” she asked as they drew to a halt by the trunk. “Not really the girl you wanna look to for emotional support, but—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said.

She shrugged and jammed in the car key. “You lead.”

The second the trunk was up, Dean lurched forward—or rather, tried to. His eyes were cold black, the same sort of black Willow’s eyes went when she got her witch on. He snarled something unintelligible from behind the gag, spittle flying in all directions, the fabric now between his teeth. Faith was careful not to look at Sam, figuring he needed a moment to come to grips with what he was seeing, and instead began piecing together just how she intended to get Dean out and inside without drawing unwanted attention. If he was struggling the entire time, it’d be a bit of a bitch but she’d manage. A lot better for everyone involved if she could get him nice and placid.

So, channeling as much of her strength as she dared, Faith smashed her elbow against Dean’s forehead. When this much just seemed to piss him off, she upped the ante and hit him again, and he fell quiet, unconscious.

Sam was breathing hard, looking from her to his brother and back again. “He…he really is a demon.”

“Yeah. So it’s your call.”

“My call?”

“Like I said, killin’ demons is kinda what I do. Or what I’m supposed to do. You said you wanted help—”

“Not in killing him,” Sam sputtered. “We’re not killing him. We’re curing him.”

Faith’s eyebrows winged upward. “They make a pill for that?”

“Not exactly, no. But sanctified blood…” He nodded at Dean’s still form, and she took it as the cue to haul the deadweight. “That should turn him back. Turn him human.”

Faith grunted as she strong-armed her demonic fling out of the trunk, then winced and lifted him into her arms. The angle was awkward, given his weight was rather compact rather than evenly distributed, but she’d make it just fine if they made tracks. “Couple friends of mine might be interested to hear that all it takes to chase a demon out is the right kind of O-pos,” she muttered. Though somehow, she didn’t see Angel profiting from this. If the stories were to be believed, he’d ingested enough sanctified blood to swim in.

“You have demon friends?”

“Just one, really. Spike’s all right, but he and I aren’t what you’d call friends.” There had been that whole thing where he’d knocked her around Buffy’s house after discovering she and the others had kicked O Sanctimonious One out, which had probably been deserved, but hadn’t done much to solidify them as buddies. “And since Spike took Angel’s prophecy, it’s worth a call to LA to get him to try this.”

“What?”

Faith stopped and bounced Dean a bit in her arms. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer we do the heart-to-heart when he’s in a cage.”

Sam blinked, then seemed to realize where they were and nodded. “Follow me,” he said, and tore ahead of her toward the entrance.

Faith followed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unplanned hiatus. Hope to have more frequent updates going forward.

It actually went better with Sam than she could have expected.

The first order of business had been securing Dean, of course, which hadn’t taken too terribly long. Seemed the Men of Letters stronghold had all kinds of space, not to mention resources that would make Giles all tingly in the nether region. It became clear after traipsing her way through the place that even if they had to evict the current residents, this was the kind of base the new slayers needed.

“So where is the angel?” Faith asked, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Sam had led her to a room he called the dungeon, which she supposed was apt. It was dark and isolated, and one of those impressive sigil things had been painted on the floor. She’d undone Dean’s bonds—or at least the less-than-comfortable position she’d had him in—before recuffing him and tying him to a chair in the middle of the room. “Gotta admit, kinda interested to see what they look like.”

Sam snickered. “Angels are like demons. They use human vessels.”

“Met many demons, have you?” Faith was beginning to suspect that somehow, someway, the entirety of otherworldly creatures had been split down the middle. Perhaps the hybrid demons she was used to were the sort that was attracted solely to Slayer power—or the Hellmouth, as the case may be. A demon who looked and walked like an ordinary man wasn’t exactly news, but that these guys thought all demons followed the same mold definitely was.

“More than you can imagine,” Sam muttered.

“I dunno, Pretty Boy, think you’ll find my imagination’s got no limits.” There would be time to get into the whole thing later—figure out what Sam and friends knew, fill in what they didn’t, and let them do the same. Seemed fair to assume she’d have to have the whole vampire conversation with him, too, considering that had been a sticking point for Dean when she’d revealed who she was. “So the plan for Big Bro is you’re gonna juice him full of blood?”

“Blessed blood,” Sam said. “Easy enough. We just need a priest.”

“The angel can’t do it?”

“Cass isn’t around right now, for one thing.” He frowned, and in that frown told Faith there was more to that story—or at least he suspected there was. Seemed everyone was keeping secrets at Camp Winchester. “I’m not waiting.”

“So just any blood do? Don’t need to type it out or nothin’?”

Sam blinked at her. “He’s a demon.”

Faith brought her hands up. “All right. Don’t know how this shit’s supposed to work, is all.”

“And you’re a vampire slayer?” He huffed and waved at Dean. “Isn’t this kind of your thing? Or is it strictly vampires?”

“You got hooch around here? We can settle in and I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

Sam favored his brother with a long, speculative look that she was sure meant he was going to choose duty over everything else, which left her pleasantly surprised when he turned back to her and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “If we’re going to do this—if you’re going to help me with Dean, I should know something about you, right?”

“This here’s a quid pro quo,” she replied, following him back into the maze of halls. It felt a bit odd leaving their demon hostage by his lonesome, even if he was cuffed and apparently stranded in a mystical trap, but she’d done her job. Dean Winchester was officially Sam’s problem.

“A quid pro quo?”

“I didn’t do this outta the kindness of my heart, Jolly Green. You did talk to Giles.”

Sam huffed and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I think I need a bit more alcohol in me for this.”

“You’re singing my song.”

Sam led her into an industrial-sized kitchen, disappeared into one man-sized refrigerator, and appeared again with a bottle of beer in either hand. He motioned her over to a small table tucked against the wall, and she helped herself to a seat.

“All right,” he said after he settled in across from her. “So, let’s hear it.”

Faith made a game of sliding her bottle between her hands as she spilled everything that had happened in Sunnydale. The First Evil, the mini-slayers, the übervamps—this naturally led to a conversation about what had passed in the Winchester world for the real thing, according to Crowley—and how B and friends had saved the world by activating each little girl with the teeniest bit of slayer inside her. She described the slayer-watcher relationship and managed, mostly, to swallow most of her bitterness, then segued into Giles’s idea about making the Men of Letters one of the training stations for the new generation of monster slayers.

“That’s what he was doing here,” she said before taking a pull of her beer. “Seein’ if there was anythin’ leftover from when this place was hoppin’. Ran into you instead.”

Sam nodded, looking more than a little shaken, which probably shouldn’t make her feel better but did anyway. “I…I honestly thought he was nuts,” he replied with a small laugh. “Dean and I grew up in this. We’ve been from one side of the country to the next hunting monsters—it’s literally the only thing Dean’s ever known and, with little exception, me too. You’d think we’d have… I dunno, run into you guys before.”

“Slayers ain’t always born and raised in the USA. And B was pretty much a homebody until the homestead became a sinkhole.” Faith lifted a shoulder. “Even when the Slayer is on Team America, she pretty much had shit covered. Every chance you and the fam rolled through town after something had already punched her ticket.”

“And vampires?” Sam shook his head. “Until a few years ago, we thought vampires were myths. And then we ran into them and _kept_ running into them. Now you’re telling me that the things I thought were vampires were actually this…whatever Crowley called them?”

Faith shrugged again, bringing up her hands. “Look, all I know is what I’ve been told. Got tapped as a teen to slay vamps, and I was wicked good at it. The Watchers Council put a stake in my hand and pointed me in the right direction. Whatever it is you and Demon Boy have been huntin’ down don’t sound like a vamp to me. If I ever found one in the wild, I’d put it down and assume it to be some kind of demon I’d never seen before. Figure the same could be said for you guys, right? You ever slay a thing that just burst into dust on impact?”

Sam crinkled his rather massive forehead—another feature he shared with Angel—in thought. “I…suppose,” he said. “We’ve spent a lot of time in cemeteries. A _lot_ of time.”

“Vamps would be all fang, wicked strong, and yellow-eyed. They get all ridgy in the forehead region, too, but go down without much fuss.” Faith held up a hand. “Stake to the heart, sunlight, decapitation. They’re allergic to holy water and crosses. Garlic is hit and miss but they definitely need invites to get in and don’t give off reflections.”

“So, real vampires are basically a stereotype.”

“Try tellin’ them that.” She snickered and threw back another mouthful. “We go out on a hunt sometime, you and me, and I’ll point the real thing out. You can do the same on whatever the fuck it is you and Dean have been callin’ vamps. They sound like they’d be more of a challenge anyway.”

Sam nodded, though the gesture was absent. “Tell me about prison.”

“Once upon a time I was a very bad girl. Then one day I decided I wouldn’t be anymore.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, Sammy, just like that. What the fuck do you think?”

“I think you’re asking me to take a lot on faith”—he caught himself this time, coughed and looked away, his peach little cheeks going a bit red—“without telling me much in return. You want to get, you gotta give a little.”

“I gave you your goddamned brother—ain’t that enough?”

“That got you inside the bunker and a beer.” Sam met her eyes again, leaning forward. “Look, I don’t know what life has been like for you and… _Buffy_ or Mr. Giles or anything else. But Dean and me have handled more than our fair share of shit these last few years and I’m sorry if it takes a bit more than a goodwill gesture to get me rolling out the welcome mat. I appreciate that you brought Dean here and…I’m interested in this slayer stuff. But I need more from you before I decide to give more people the tour.”

That much made sense, even if it did annoy her. There were certain stories she wasn’t too excited to tell, and the whole sordid history of Evil Faith was at the top of the list. The past was harder to outrun when people wouldn’t let it stay where it was.

“I’ll shorthand it, okay?” she said after a moment. “B and me got on like thieves for about five minutes when we first met, then I got a better offer. Ended up doing a lot of shit I’m not proud of. Only person who seemed to give a fuck about Faith happened to be B’s ex—well, at the time he was her current. He got the dark shit because, well, he was a vamp.”

Sam blinked. A lot. “Buffy…the _Vampire Slayer_ dated a vampire?”

“Yeah, that surprised big bro, too. Turns out the only kinda guy who does it for her is the sort without a pulse.” Which again made her think of Spike and how well his reunion might be going now that he was something other than room temperature. B had been pretty torn up about that sacrifice, though it had taken a minute for her honey’s death to really sink in. If the guy was more breakable now, though…

“That’s…ahh, poetic?”

Faith snorted. “It’s something. And only the type with a soul, I think.” When Sam just looked at her blankly, she rolled her eyes. “Guessin’ your type of vamp has different rules. Vamps are made by draining a dude to the brink of death, then giving that dude vamp blood. Not the way it happens with yours?”

“Ahh, no. It’s just a little blood in the mouth.”

“Shit.” She shivered. “Not like that’ll give me nightmares or nothin’. Anyway, the guy that drinks the vamp blood takes a long nap others call death and wakes up a night or so later as a demon, and once the demon goes in, the soul goes out. What you’re left with might walk and talk like the guy he was before, but he’ll rip your throat out if you smile funny. So they’re left to murder and rampage and do whatever it is monsters do, unless they cross the wrong type of magic wielder, as my friend did. They shoved a soul up his ass and suddenly he felt bad for all the bad he’d done and worked on being better. That’s why he got me the way he did.”

Sam nodded, his brow furrowed. This seemed to be his go-to expression. “That’s…actually a bit more like the vamps we’ve dealt with. We knew one a few years back, Lenore, who was trying to make it without hurting anyone. Didn’t end well for her, but there were vamps who cared. You’re saying this…friend of yours has managed to make it work?”

“Ain’t been a cakewalk or nothin’, but yeah. He had his own detective agency and everything.” She decided to leave out the recent promotion to managing all of Wolfram and Hart, because then she’d have to get into evil lawyers and Angel’s stupid-but-commendable plan to Trojan-horse some change into the organization. “Gets his feed on from local butchers.”

“Butchers. So he doesn’t, like, need _live_ cattle?”

Faith barked a laugh, her mind suddenly occupied with the image of Angel sinking his fangs into a heifer. “In Los Angeles? You’re shitting me, right?”

“Dead blood doesn’t work on our vamps.”

“What—wait? No shit?” Well, that’d certainly explain why the cuddlier among his definition of vamps had a hard time staying on the wagon. “Naw, blood is blood. They can eat whatever they want. Angel keeps his fridge full. Think there’s a demon-run delivery business that keeps him stocked. Or did, the last time we talked.”

“So…he runs a detective agency and has a soul, which means…”

“Which means he’d done a load of bad shit in his day and knew how it felt to try and live with it. ‘Course, I didn’t have the _soulless_ excuse, but… Well, he just got me.” Faith shrugged. “Best friend a chick in rehab could ask for. Which is why I busted ass outta the clink the second I got word that his superpals had decided to let the beast roam free.”

Sam blinked and leaned forward. “What?”

“You hear some noise about darkness descending over LA a few months back?”

“I… Yes. We actually were going to check in on that ourselves, but… Let’s just say, our lives haven’t exactly been short on crises.”

“Can’t be everywhere at once. No shame in admittin’ it.” Faith blew out a breath. “Well, turns out that the thing behind it was an old acquaintance of Angelus’s.”

“Angelus?”

“That’s what we call Angel when his soul has left the building.”

Sam’s mouth twitched. “You have a different name for that, huh? Soul versus unsouled? I can see the appeal. Easier to distance yourself from all the bad you’ve done, though… I guess in my case, I couldn’t outrun it.”

Wait. Hold the phone. Faith all but tumbled forward. “You have experience being soulless?”

“I don’t like talking about it.”

“Hot damn, I didn’t even know that was possible for a human.” She waited a beat, then another, before throwing her head back. “Do not do me dirty on this. We’re sharing war stories, ain’t we? I need to know.”

“It’s not relevant.”

“All due respect, blow it out your ass, it’s not relevant.” Faith spread her arms. “Kinda in the same line of work, ain’t we? If I can knock my soul free, I’d prefer to learn now.”

Sam glared at her for a moment before blowing out a deep breath and running one of those mammoth hands of his through his male-model hair. “The abbreviated version,” he said. “I went to Hell once.”

Faith barely had time to hold back a snort. Between that revelation and going soulless, she was beginning to think Sam Winchester and Angel were the same guy just in different packaging. Get them in a room together and she might have trouble picking out which was which.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Is…that funny?”

Seemed that she hadn’t quite been quick enough to kill a grin. Laughing at some guy’s trip to the underworld was probably not the best way to make new friends. Faith scrubbed a hand down her face. “Sorry,” she said. “Ain’t about that. It’s just that you kinda remind me of him.”

“Of who? The vampire?”

“He spent some QT in Hell, too. Got sent there by his ex.”

“That’s…an extreme way to react to a breakup.”

“Nah. She killed him to save the world, which wouldn’t have been in danger if he hadn’t put it there.”

Sam studied her for a long moment then shook his head. “This is…beyond my understanding.”

“Then you must be new.”

“No, that’s just it. I am extremely _not_ new at this. Neither is Dean. We come from a long line of hunters—an even longer line than we thought when we were kids. And for the past few years, we have just barely been keeping ahead of the latest plot to end the world, whether by angels or demons or Leviathans or…well, the devil himself.” He flashed a weak grin when Faith could muster little more than a startled blink. “It just always seemed like it was me and Dean against, well, everything. There are other hunters out there, but we were the ones that always seemed to be chasing down the apocalypse. That this was happening elsewhere and we didn’t know about it? That it wasn’t even on our radar? That’s, well, like I said, beyond my understanding. It just seems like the sort of thing Castiel would’ve mentioned once or twice.”

Well, she guessed she could understand that. “Way it’s supposed to work on our side is the Watchers Council keeps tabs on shit goin’ on around the globe—least that’s the way my first watcher told it. Apocalypse goin’ down in Peru, then we hop on a plane. B got to stay in SunnyD because it was a hotbed for demonic shit.”

“And it never crossed our radar. That boggles my mind. Even more that there were whole apocalypses that we never knew about.” He shook his head again, that wavy hair of his moving in a way that in itself seemed more than a little demonic. “And now there are…how many slayers in the world?”

She lifted a shoulder. “That there’s the million-dollar question. Hundreds, maybe thousands. We ain’t gonna force any to do shit they don’t wanna, but Giles figures they’ll all need a place to figure out how to manage their super-strength, even if they don’t sign on to become Xena.”

Sam nodded, and though the move was minute, Faith could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, knew that she had him interested enough to continue this conversation when they were on the other side of curing Dean. Or killing Dean—whichever way that pendulum swung.

“I’m not sure how many girls we could accommodate here,” Sam said, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, we’re not short on space, but in the numbers you’re talking about, it could be pretty tight.”

“Not entirely sure what all Giles had in mind, but I think it was more a rotation thing,” Faith replied. “Crew of six or seven at a time. Maybe more if you can handle it.”

“And…would you be staying to help?”

Faith blinked, taken aback at Sam’s somewhat hopeful tone. “Me?”

“Well, yeah. I’m guessing Buffy’s too busy being…well, Buffy, and I wouldn’t know the first thing about slayers.” Sam shifted, leaning forward. “It’s…all too big for me. Like I said, we’ve been alone most of the time. We have allies and people we meet on the road, but an actual army of people who can help hunt things?”

That much was true, though she wasn’t used to thinking that far ahead or making solid preparations for the future. The last time she’d done that, she’d ended up in a coma, which had just proved to her that the best sort of plan was the one she came up with on the fly. In truth, Faith had no fucking idea what Giles intended to do if Sam said yes, aside from perhaps move in, himself, after he’d rounded up the watchers who might have been abroad when the Council had gone up in flames. It seemed likely that he had contingency plans for any eventuality, because that was the kinda guy Giles was and always had been. But if any of those plans involved Faith, he hadn’t let her know.

What would it be like, hanging around here and training the next generation of slayers? Actually having a purpose rather than shuffling aimlessly from place to place, waiting for the chance to really make amends for all the wrong she’d done?

“I ain’t been given my marching orders just yet,” Faith replied. “Mostly just go where they tell me. Say you know some others—think they’d be any good at helpin’?”

“The people I’d trust the most to help are, well, gone.”

Gone was code for _dead_ , she knew.

“And,” Sam continued a moment later, “like I was saying, other hunters don’t really have experience with end-of-the-world stuff.”

“Unless they deal with it the same way we do.”

“There’s a rather terrifying thought.” He offered another laugh, but she could tell the notion had him rattled. “I guess it’s useless to make plans now. Dean needs to be a part of the conversation, too, and he’s not in the place to be particularly helpful at the moment.”

Faith nodded. She had to admire the certainty in Sam’s voice that Dean _would_ pull through this. Given the same circumstances, she wasn’t sure she’d be as optimistic. But then he’d said he’d done this once before, humanized a demon, so maybe he’d earned the right to that optimism.

And hell, if Sam was able to pull it off, maybe that was something to share with Angel. Not that she thought it’d work, but it’d be something to try out if nothing else.

“Speaking of, when do you wanna get started on big bro?”

Sam polished off his beer and placed the bottle on the table. “As soon as we get back.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We gotta blood run to make.”


End file.
